


Chimaera

by ArthurFloppit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 60,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurFloppit/pseuds/ArthurFloppit
Summary: ChimæraByArthur Floppitwith Marge and Flora FloppitChimaeraIn Greek mythology, a fabulous fire-breathing monster withthe head of a lion, the body of a goat and the tail of a serpent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chimæra  
> By  
> Arthur Floppit  
> with Marge and Flora Floppit
> 
> Chimaera  
> In Greek mythology, a fabulous fire-breathing monster with  
> the head of a lion, the body of a goat and the tail of a serpent.

**Preface**

    One Sunday afternoon around the time of the Millennium, Viv Rose, a boarder at Steyning Grammar School, came up to me in Bennett’s boarding house and asked if we could make a film. This took me rather by surprise but I said we could have a go. Viv said great/cool/awesome - whatever word was current amongst teenagers at the time - and asked if I had any ideas for the plot. I thought for a moment and then made a suggestion. Viv thought this was great/cool/awesome and I knew what was coming next; would I write the screenplay. I remember we got hold of one of those flip charts and over the days that followed, jotted down some ideas on the large sheets of paper; and that’s about as far as we got. Soon afterwards, Viv left the school and although the sheets of paper with the jottings remained in Bennett’s ‘tuck shop’ for many years, nothing more came of it.

   One evening a few years ago, George Philpott, head boy of the boarding house at the time, came up to me and asked if we could make a film. I told him I didn’t think I was up to it - I had now retired and was only helping out in boarding on Thursday evenings - but remembered that SGS Radio was trying to get off the ground so suggested we write a radio play instead. George thought this a good idea and asked about the plot. I repeated what I had told Viv all those years before. George said great/cool/awesome - whatever word was current amongst teenagers at the time - and I knew what was coming next!

  
     Well, I have to say we got much further than the first attempt. Some dialogue was written and recording began but, again, it was never finished. George and the other boarders involved left the school and that should have been that. However, I had mentioned the story to two of my three daughters and they came up with some very good suggestions as to where it should go. On top of this, there were some aspects of Steyning history, myth and legend that, coincidentally, fitted very well into the plot. Forget screenplays and radio scripts, they said, and write a novel; and that is what I have attempted to do.

  
     Although this is a work of fiction, there is much about Steyning and the school that is ‘real’. As to any characters that appear in this regard, I have changed their names in order to avoid any potential embarrassment; and if _You-Know-Who_ who wrote _You-Know-What_ gets to read this, I can only hope she will be happy with the thought that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

  
     Finally, this story is dedicated to all staff and boarders at Steyning Grammar School - past, present and future. It is also my belated contribution to the 400th anniversary of the founding of the school which fell in 2014.

Arthur Floppit  
December 2016


	2. Chapter 2

Prologue

     I should never have taken it. It was a very foolish thing to do. In my defence, I was not in my right mind at the time and greatly weakened by the ordeal I had suffered. In the days that followed, I hardly had the strength to move from the bed so kindly provided for me in the cottage.

     I feel ashamed for taking it, especially as it was from those who had rescued me. I heard them speaking about it soon after we arrived. They talked of throwing it into the sea and that was something I simply could not allow to happen. It was virtually intact but for the two glass inlays. They were broken and a thick black residue had spilled out of them. I persuaded myself I could restore it. You will say this is not in my usual line of business and you would be right, but it was a thing of beauty and great importance which I felt I appreciated more than those from whom I took it: and there was something else which I still find difficult to explain. The moment I set eyes on it, I felt compelled - that is not too strong a word - compelled to pick it up. In the days that followed I did my best to restore it. It was painstaking work but it does now resemble the object it once was.

    I have come to sense it has a purpose all its own, or that there is some mission it needs to accomplish or wishes me to accomplish on its behalf. I cannot say more at present and do not know how and where this will end.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 1  
Sunday 22nd Feb. 1998

In which Sally Allbright meets Sam Bolton and  
Tom Bradley and travels to Steyning Grammar School

     Although a Sunday and not a weekday, Victoria Station was nevertheless bustling with people hurrying to and from the trains. Pigeons strutted about looking for crumbs, flying up into the high vaulted glass roof when they felt threatened.  On the right-hand side of the concourse, small groups of travellers stood looking up at the large display board over Burger King, checking arrivals and departures. It took most only a short while to find their platform and the time the train was leaving but a slight, dark-haired girl had been there quite a while. She had put a suitcase and a large plastic bag down on the ground in front of her and was trying to make sense of the fluttering letters and numbers. She had felt nervous about travelling since leaving home earlier that morning and this was making things worse. What if she missed the train! What if there wasn’t a train at all! She now wished she had accepted her mother’s offer to accompany her instead of saying that she was seventeen, practically grown up, and would be fine. Putting a hand in her pocket, she pulled out the piece of paper her father had insisted on giving her and re-read what he’d written:

_When you get to King’s Cross take the tube, the Victoria Line, and get off at Victoria Station. Head for the right-hand side as the train you need probably leaves from one of the platforms there but this is not always the case so check the display board and be sure to get on a train to Shoreham-by-Sea in West Sussex not one going to Shoreham in Kent! If there are any problems, ring me at home._

    She looked up at the display board once again. The letters and numbers continued to flutter and she still couldn’t make out her destination and platform number. Worry turned to panic and she was considering ’phoning her father when she heard a voice at her elbow.  
     “Hi. You look a bit lost. Can I help?”  
     She turned to see a boy of about her own age standing next to her. He had a large battered suitcase in his right hand while the other held the strap of a backpack slung carelessly over his left shoulder.  
     “I’m alright, thank you, I…” She moved slightly away from him. He was a stranger and she knew not to talk to strangers but this standard advice was very rapidly overridden by her situation; besides, he looked friendly enough with an open, honest face beneath a mop of unruly brown hair.  
     “Er, that is yes…yes please,” she added quickly. “I need to get to Shoreham-by-Sea but can’t find the platform and the train time."  
     “There, look.” The boy put down his suitcase and pointed up at the display board. “See the advert for Gatwick Airport? See where it says ‘Gatwick check-in’? Look under the ‘k’ of check-in … see it? The train leaves in four minutes from Platform 16 so we’ll have to hurry!”  
     “Thank you.” The girl sounded genuinely grateful and relieved. “I can manage now. Don’t miss your own train.”  
     The boy laughed.  
     “I won’t because I’m going to Shoreham-by-Sea, too! Come on!”

***

    The train picked up speed as it crossed the Thames and passed Battersea Power Station. The carriages swayed as the girl and the boy made their way through them, looking for a seat. The motion of the train and the suitcases slowed their progress as did the large plastic bag the girl was carrying. It was difficult to manoeuvre between the seats and several times suitcase and bag banged into the knees and arms of fellow passengers. A few stern looks were levelled at them and barely audible comments muttered. The girl felt uncomfortable but the boy apologised and smiled politely as they squeezed past.  
     They entered the next carriage but that was also full. The one after that looked more promising. The seats on the left-hand side were all taken but there were two empty ones on the right, opposite a girl who was reading a book. The boy’s face lit up.  
     “Hi Sam, I was wondering if you’d be on this train.”  
     “Hi Tom. Good half term?” As she spoke, the girl called Sam was looking hard at his companion.  
     “Great, thanks, apart from my bossy sister, that is!” He hoisted his suitcase up on the rack and turned to the dark-haired girl.  
     “Do you want me to put yours up too?”  
     “Er…yes…thanks.”  
     “What about that large bag of yours?”  
     “I’ll put it on the seat next to me. It needs to be upright.”  
     “What’ve you got in there?” The girl called Sam had put down her book and was looking at the bag.  
     “It’s a plant.”  
     “What sort?”  
     “I ... I don’t know.”  
     “My Mum loves plants. She has loads around the house but always forgets to water them so they die! My name’s Sam Bolton, by the way - Samantha actually, but everyone calls me Sam. What’s yours?”  
     The girl was not used to this sort of direct questioning and became flustered. She looked at the boy called Tom for support but he was busy rummaging in his backpack. She took a deep breath.  
     “I’m ... er ... Sally…Sally Allbright.”  
     “Nice to meet you, Sally. Are you a friend of Tom’s?  
     “Er…no. He just helped me find the train.”  
     “I see. Good to hear he’s doing something right!”  
     “So kind!” The boy called Tom spoke while rummaging in his backpack.  
     “You’re welcome. Where’re you from, Sally?”  
     “Er...Letchworth.”  
     A short silence followed but Sam was still looking at her so Sally felt more conversation was required. Like Tom, this Sam had a kind, open expression and seemed to be about the same age as her but where Sally was of average height and dark-haired, Sam was fairer and taller. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a baggy red sweater.

     “Er…where do you live?”  
     “26, Sheldrake Road, Richmond,” reeled off Sam, but before she could elaborate further there was a shout which made both girls jump.  
     “Found it! I knew it was in there somewhere!” Tom pulled a large bar of chocolate out  
of his backpack with a flourish, rather as a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. He stood up and, holding the bar between his teeth, stuffed the backpack up on the rack next to his suitcase.  
     “Who’d like a bit? … Sam?”  
     “Yeah, thanks.” Sam leaned forward and took the piece he held out for her.  
     “There you go, Sally.” Tom had broken off another piece and Sally found she had it in her hand before she had a chance to say anything.  
     “I’m Tom Bradley,” he continued, “and I live in Cambridge, just up the road from Letchworth.”  
     “Er…yes.”  
     “We’re practically neighbours!”  
     “Er…yes.”  
     “And…” Tom looked over at Sam, “I’m guessing our Sally here is heading for Steyning Grammar School, and since she doesn’t live down there, I’d say she’s boarding!” He folded his arms and looked at the two girls with a smug expression on his face.  
     “All right Sherlock, how did you deduce all that?”  
     “Elementary, my dear Miss Bolton. It’s the timing, the end of half term; and why would someone of her age travel to our little old town except to go to school there!”  
     “So clever! What amazing powers of deduction! Please tell me he’s wrong, Sally. Please tell me you have an aunt down there and you’re just visiting her for the day.”  
     “No, I’m afraid he’s right. I am going Steyning Grammar school and I am boarding. I’ve never actually been away from home before so…”  
     “…you’re a bit worried.”  
     “Yes.”  
     Sally surprised herself. She would not normally have volunteered this much information to anyone, let alone comparative strangers.  
     “Nor had I before last September,” added Tom by way of reassurance. “Dad’s on a lecture tour in America and Mum’s tagging along. They’ll be away for a whole year. My older sister Jess is house and cat-sitting but she thinks I mess the place up so - would you believe it - she suggested to Mum and Dad that I go to boarding school. And do you know what? They actually agreed with her! I could’ve gone to the Perse or the Keys - they’re schools in Cambridge - but no, they or probably more accurately my darling big sister, didn’t think that was a good idea so here I am! Actually, Dad knew of the school because a friend of his called Paul Braithwaite who works at the Family Record Centre in Islington used to go there.”  
     “I came in September too,” put in Sam, “but I actually chose to board. Mum and Dad both work and I’m an only child. Did you come down and look at the place, Sally?”  
     “No. I’d never even heard of Steyning until a week or so ago!”  
     “Well, you’ll be fine. It’s a good school and the boarders are all very friendly. What do your parents do?”  
     “Dad’s an accountant and Mum works part-time in the local library.”  
     “What are you going to study?”  
     “I’m…well, not absolutely sure yet but I really hope I can continue with the subjects I started in September. I’ve got an interview with the head of the Sixth Form tomorrow. What about you?”  
     “Sciences and our Mr. Holmes here is doing History, English and …what was it Tom?  
     “French.”  
    “I knew it was a language of some sort. Sally, can I ask something a bit - you know -personal?”  
     “Er…yeah.”  
     “Why are you coming half way through the Spring Term?  
     “I think my parents thought boarding would be good for me and…well. I’m not really sure, actually. They were quite insistent.” Sally tailed off and Sam and Tom looked at each other. Both felt there was more to be  
said on the subject but didn’t feel they should ask.  
     "Well,” said Tom breezily, “You’ll be OK at Steyning Grammar School and it’s an  adventure, isn’t it!”  
     “Er, yes…” Sally sounded apprehensive. “I’m not really sure I’m ready for one right now, though.”  
     “You’ll be fine ... bit more chocolate?”

***

    A school minibus was waiting for them at Shoreham-by-Sea station and the driver, a member of the boarding staff who introduced himself to Sally as Mr. Liffey, helped load luggage onto the back seats. It transpired there were several other boarders on the same train as Sam, Sally and Tom, returning after half term.  
     Sally was very quiet during the journey to Steyning. The proximity of the other students, chatting noisily to each other, made her nervous and she withdrew into herself. Sam, sitting next to her on the front seat, threw the occasional glance but knew better than to ask if she was alright and let her be. As they went along, Tom, sitting just behind the two girls and unaware of Sally’s state of mind, noisily pointed out various landmarks. There on the left-hand side, he told her, was Lancing College, an independent school with a chapel the size of a cathedral. A short distance further along on the right he indicated a large disused chalk pit, the old Shoreham Cement Works, and away to the left a river called the Adur which used to have a railway running alongside it until it was axed by Dr. Beeching in 1966.  
     They soon approached a roundabout where Tom pointed to a large flint finger pointing at the sky. He just had time to explain it was part of the old gatehouse of Bramber Castle before Mr. Liffey took the second exit on the left and from there it was only a matter of minutes before they turned into a small car park just past a church and continued onto what looked like a school playground, pulling up in front of a large square brick building. They had arrived.

***

    Sally was relieved to learn from Sam that she would be in the same building - Wykeham House - and better still in the same room which, Sam told her, was known as the Garden Dorm. There were five beds there and she had been allocated one by the windows at the back which looked out onto what looked like a building site. Sam’s was closer to the door.  
     “Where do you think I should put it?” Sally was holding up the plant she had taken out of her bag. It was a couple of feet high with dense dark green foliage.  
     “How about on the window sill?” suggested Sam. “What sort of plant is it? It looks weird to me!”  
     “No idea. It was given to me when I was born, apparently. My parents suggested I brought it along for company. Every now and again it has these strange purple flowers and once when I was fiddling with the stick that holds it up, it stung me!”  
     “Hey, my Mum should get one of those!” As she spoke, Sam was taking clothes out of her suitcase. “She’d have a job killing it by the sound of things! Perhaps you should replace it with something harmless like a Busy Lizzie.”  
     “Oh no, I couldn’t do that,” said Sally quickly and placed the plant carefully on the window ledge.

  
***

    Just before six o’clock, they left Wykeham House in the company of several other girls. There was a note pinned to the back door just outside their room telling them to use the front and side exits. They walked down a passage into a small common room and from there out into a lane. Sally felt her nervousness returning but was reassured by Sam’s presence. They entered the dining room and headed for the far end where they sat down at a circular table. Several members of staff were sitting at a long wooden table opposite the serving hatches and Sally recognised Mr. Liffey as one of them. There was a buzz of conversation before a bell was rung and a member of staff rose to his feet, waiting for the noise to die down before speaking.  
     “Good evening everyone,” he began, “and welcome back. I hope you all had a good half term and that those of you taking exams in the summer did a bit of work!”  
     “That’s Mr. Rodale, the housemaster,” whispered Sam.  
     “Right.”  
     “We have a new boarder with us,” continued Mr. Rodale. “She’s called Sally Allbright and will be going into the sixth form. Please make her welcome. Now just a reminder that registration is at the usual time tomorrow - eight fifty-five - so don’t be late into school! Finally, you may have noticed that Wykeham Lawn is out of bounds. This is because of a large hole! During half term, some new drains were being put in but there’s been a slight hold-up because the workmen have found what look like some bits of a stone wall. The Sussex archaeological team have been called in and I’m sure that once they have photographed and recorded everything, the lawn will soon be put back the way it was and you will be able to use it. It’s not as though they’ve uncovered the remains of St. Cuthman’s church or his tomb, is it!”  
     “Who’s St. Cuthman?” asked Sally as she and Sam made their way up to the serving area.  
     “He’s a local saint but I don’t know any more than that. We’ll ask our Mr. Holmes; he’s doing History so he should know.” Sam turned towards the serving hatch and waved to three ladies who were waiting to serve her.  
     “Sally, meet Mary, Lisa and Martine.” Introductions were made with the three ladies leaning forward over the serving area to shake Sally’s hand before asking them what they wanted to eat.  
     “Beef stew but not too many potatoes please ... that’s great, thanks. How about you, Sally?”  
     “I’m actually not very hungry.”  
     “Come on, have a little. You must eat.”  
     “You sound just like my Mum … well OK, just a bit.”  
     “Hi, how’s it going? Tom had appeared at Sally’s elbow, making her start and nearly drop the plate she was carrying.  
     “Oh, hello Tom. OK, thanks.” Lisa was looking at her, serving spoon poised.  
     “Er … yes, a little of the chicken and some mashed potato and peas, please.” Sally turned back to Tom.  
     “Sam said you might know who St. Cuthman is.”  
     “Yeah, I do as it happens. He’s a local Saxon saint and the story goes that he was wheeling his sick mother along in a wheel-barrow when it broke down in Steyning. He took this as a sign from God to build a church here which he did. It would have been a wooden one in those days. There are all sorts of other stories about him but I can’t remember them and I don’t know what happened to his mum, either.”  
     “There you are, Sally,” exclaimed Sam. “Our Mr. Holmes knows everything!”

     “You can experience more of my brilliance if you let me come and sit with you.”  
     “Oh, I don’t know about that! Shall we let him?”  
     “Well, perhaps, just this once!” Sally was surprised at her response. It was not in her nature to be forthcoming, let alone flippant. Sam and Tom seemed to be able to bring something out in her, something new or perhaps something that had lain dormant   for a very long time. They helped themselves to cutlery from the plastic trays at the end of the serving hatch and made their way back to the table.  
     “You still in the same room?” Sam asked Tom when they were seated.  
     “Yeah.” He turned to Sally. “I’m in Bennett’s House which is the large square brick building we saw when we first arrived. You must come over. There’s a large common room on the ground floor and a big TV room off it. At the other end, there’s an area they call the coffee bar where you can buy drinks and sweets. It’s cool, isn’t it Sam?”  
     “Yeah, it is. Upstairs are the boys’ rooms, but the ground floor is communal. The member of staff who’s in charge of Bennett’s is called Mr. Weltred.” Sam pointed to the staff table. “That’s him over there, the one with the moustache.”  
     “You’re in Wykeham House with Sam, aren’t you?” asked Tom. “Have you met Miss Gamling?”  
     “No, she hasn’t.” Sam answered for her as Sally looked puzzled. “She’s our House-parent.” She pointed to the serving hatch. “That’s her up there, being served what looks like treacle sponge.”  
      “Treacle sponge?” Tom stood up quickly. “Did you say treacle sponge? My favourite! Are you coming up to get some?”  
     “We're still on the first course, Tom! Give us a break!”  
     “Well, hurry up before it all goes! I like girls with healthy appetites!”  
     “Yeah, right! Don't rush us!”  
     “I think I’ll go and check it out.”  
     “God! Boys!” muttered Sam, as Tom headed off. “Only ever one thing on their minds!”  
     “I heard that!”  
     Sally giggled.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 2  
Monday 23rd February

In which John Sayles, Senior Archaeologist for West  
Sussex, discusses finds on Wykeham Lawn with colleagues

    “Morning Fiona.”  
     John Sayles, Senior archaeologist for West Sussex, came into the office at their headquarters in Chichester and closed the door behind him. He took off his coat and hung it on a peg on the wall.  
     “Morning, John.”  
     “How’s the Chanctonbury dig going?  
     Fiona Fenton, seated at one end of a large table with a chart spread out in front of her, put down her pencil and looked up.  
     “OK, but slow because of the weather. We’re in the process of excavating the depression in the ground to the west of the Romano-Celtic Temple but nothing so far, none of Howard Carter’s wonderful things as yet!”  
     “I should hope not! We don’t want you cursed by the Chanctonbury Gods, do we!”  
     The door opened and their colleague, Mark Weston, came in carrying a stack of folders. He crossed to a desk under the window and shuffled them onto it. Some fell on the floor. “Morning all,” he said, stooping to retrieve them.  
     “Hi Mark,” Fiona looked up from her work. “Back from the course, I see.”  
     “Yep.” Mark placed the folders carefully on the desk. “I didn’t know Dendrachronology was still used as much as it is - always thought it a bit ‘low tech’. Anyway, it was interesting and I can now safely say I can see the wood from the trees!”  
     “Wood from the trees!” Fiona rolled her eyes. “That’s terrible! Send him on another course, John!"  
     “Tried! No one would have him!”  
     “Yeah, right!” Mark grinned, well used to this sort of banter. He looked at John.  
     “How’s Steyning coming along? Have we finished there yet? I’m sure the school wants its lawn back. We’ve been holding them up and I guess they’re not pleased.”  
     “Probably not but ... well… it’s a bit of a puzzle actually and that’s why I wanted to talk with you both.”  
     “What have you found?” asked Fiona excitedly, “St. Cuthman’s church?”  
     “Dream on! Come over here and have a look.”  John went to the other end of the table where a large sheet of paper was spread out, its corners held down by rounded stones. Fiona and Mark joined him and he pointed to a spot in the middle.  
     “It’s this that’s interesting. Workmen found it while digging a trench to put in some drains on the lawn behind one of the school boarding houses. It’s part of a wall, very slightly curved, with what looks like a post hole just inside it.”  
     “So,” put in Mark, “not the remains of your average medieval peasant’s hovel, then.”  
     “No, it’s not. Frankly, I don’t know what it is.”  
     “Excuse me” Fiona elbowed Mark gently to one side and peered more closely at the plan.  
     “Very slightly curved, yes, but regular…I wonder...”  
     “What?”  
     “I’m thinking symmetry, John. It could be part of a much larger regular structure.”  
     “Go on.”  
     “Well, it’s possible that what we’re seeing is the end of some sort of arena.”  
     “I see what you’re getting at and if by some small chance you’re right, then the other end is about…here.” Mark put his finger on a spot quite near the church.  
     “An arena, eh?” John looked at his colleagues. “Interesting thought but there’s no evidence of Romans in Steyning if you’re thinking amphitheatres. Tell you what, I’ll make a few ’phone calls and see if we’d be allowed to open up a small exploratory trench where the other end might be. We might also be able to dig up a bit more of Wykeham Lawn.”  
     “He’s not going to like it!” Mark looked up at his two colleagues.  
     “Who?”  
     “The Head of Steyning Grammar School, of course. If we’re going to dig up more of his lawn, he’s not going to like it at all. The kids are now back after half term!”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 3  
Monday 23rd Feb.

In which Sally, Sam and Tom go into school and Sally has an interview

    In the late 1950s, the small market town of Steyning had a grammar and a secondary modern school. A decade later, the two schools amalgamated to become a split-site comprehensive which, somewhat confusingly, still retained the word ‘grammar’ in its name. The old school buildings, close to the High Street and formerly the Grammar School, now became the junior school for Years 7 and 8. The Senior School for Years 9 to 13, the former secondary modern, was situated some quarter of a mile away, down on an estate known as Shooting Field.  
     After breakfast on the Monday, Tom met the two girls outside the front door of Wykeham House and together they walked up School Lane and turned right into Church Street. As they passed a small thatched cottage on the other side of the road, an elderly lady opened one of its small lattice windows on the ground floor and peered out. When she saw them, she waved. Tom waved back.  
     “Stop it, Tom!” hissed Sam.  
     “I was only being friendly. Anyway, she waved first!” They continued on their way but something made Sally pause and look back. The elderly lady was now at her front door and staring down the road after them. At her feet was a large black cat. She waved again and Sally tentatively waved back. This seemed to satisfy her and both she and the cat disappeared back into the cottage. Sally ran to catch up with her friends who were standing in front of the library. A narrow road opposite led down a short hill. The church was further up the road on the far side.  
     “Church Lane or graveyard?” Sam asked Tom.  
     “Let’s show her the graveyard.” They crossed the road and went through the lych gate before following a narrow path through the graveyard which came out onto the lower road which led to the senior school. After a couple of hundred yards they turned left into a side road and saw the school straight ahead. Part of the main building was obscured behind a row of poplar trees and several of those mobile classrooms that could be found in many a state school up and down the country at that time. The main entrance was straight ahead. Sam and Tom both had lessons but they had time to take Sally down to the Russell Centre where the Sixth Form was situated. They left her outside the office and hurried off to registration, promising to meet up with her in the library at break time. Sally knocked on the door.  
    “Come in.” Mrs. Darnall, the head of the Sixth Form, came around her desk to shake her hand.  
     “Ah, Sally, there you are. How are you settling in?”  
     “Er…alright thanks, Miss”  
     “Sit yourself down. How’s the boarding house?”  
     “It’s fine and Sam and Tom have been very helpful. I met them on the train down.”  
     “That would be Samantha Bolton and Tom….”  
     “…Bradley.”  
     “Ah yes, from Cambridge. Now Sally, I’ve heard from your parents and both of them think boarding would be a useful experience for you.”  
     “Yes, Miss.”  
     “Good. Now we need to look at the subjects you were studying before you came to us. You were taking Art, I see. Would you like to continue with the subject?”  
     “Yes please.”  
     “Good. I’ll have a word with Mrs. Emeson about that. Then there’s English and Maths, I see. I’ll have a word with Mr. Royce and Mr. Wellbuck if you want to continue with them”  
     “That sounds fine, thanks Miss.”  
     “Good.” Mrs. Darnall paused to write something down on a sheet of paper before looking up.  
     “Now, Sally, you must come and find me if there’s anything bothering you and if I’m not available there’s always Mrs. Milprem in the Sixth Form Office. She’s a very nice lady and there to help. There’s also Mrs. Weskey in the print room who works in boarding. She’s also someone to turn to if you need any help. Now is there anything you would like to ask me?”  
     “I don’t think so. It all feels a bit strange.”  
     “I’m sure it does but you’ll be fine. Think of this as a fresh start.”  
     “I will, thank you, Miss.”  
     “Good, now I suggest you go and find Mrs. Milprem in the office just opposite and she’ll point you in the direction of the Art Rooms.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 4  
Thursday 26th February

In which John Sayles and George Clockman ’phone Steyning Museum  
and Kate Pemberly remembers something

    At ten o’clock on the Thursday, three days after Sam, Sally and Tom first went into school, Chris Rennard cycled into the car park by the library, dismounted and approached the Museum door. He unlocked it and wheeled his bicycle into the foyer where he propped it up on its stand. He then turned off the alarm and checked the post box before entering the museum proper. The telephone was ringing. He went around the glass display cabinet which served as the reception area and picked up the receiver.  
     “Good morning … Steyning Museum…can I help you?  
     “Chris?”  
     “Speaking.”  
     “Hello, it’s John here…John Sayles, County Archaeologist.”  
     “Ah, a man whose career is in ruins!”  
     “Much the same could be said of you, Mr. Curator!”  
     “Yes, that’s true, but to a much lesser extent! What can I do for you?  
     “A couple of things which might be of interest, and a request.”  
     “Go on.”  
     “During half term, some workmen unearthed a bit of curved wall and what looked like a posthole under Wykeham Lawn, just up from where you are now standing. Fiona reckoned it was part of a large oval, possibly some sort of arena, and she was spot on! We dug on Cuthman’s Field over towards the church and found the same curved wall and when we extended outwards we found not one but three post holes!”  
     “Clever girl, your Fiona. What sort of size is this arena of yours?”  
     “In old money, some five hundred feet long and about one hundred and fifty at its widest; and I’ve no idea what it is at all!”  
     “Roman amphitheatre?”  
     “Most unlikely.”  
     “Can you date it?”  
     “Difficult. There’s the usual sort of stuff - pottery, oyster shells, bits of brick and flint - suggesting medieval but nothing positive. It’s a puzzle, Chris, and I was wondering if you have anything in the museum that might help. We do of course, have details of earlier excavations in Steyning but I was thinking more about school records.”  
     “Yes, they might be helpful, seeing as one end of your arena is on their property. I’ll have a look and see what we’ve got.”  
     “Thanks. See what you can dig up.”  
     “We don’t dig anything up, John, we just display what you’ve dug up!”  
     “You know what I mean. Anyway, I’d better go…be in touch ... ‘bye…”  
     “Wait, wait, hang on. You said there were a couple of things of interest and you’ve only mentioned one! What’s the second?”  
      “Oh yes, nearly forgot. Fiona’s excavating up at Chanctonbury Ring and she’s found four graves to the west of the Romano-Celtic temple. That’s the good news.”  
      “And the bad?”  
     “Two bits really, firstly it looks as if they’ve been desecrated. There’s no sign of any bones and the slabs covering them are broken up and one appears to be missing. They’re unusual in that they have some sort of snake design on them.”  
     “Second bit of bad news?”  
     “Poor old Fiona; something seems to have got to her up there. Said she didn’t feel well - sort of claustrophobic and depressed which is not like her at all. She’s fine now, by the way - probably just overdid things. Anyway, look Chris, I’ve really got to go … meeting in ten minutes. I’ll be in touch again soon …’bye.”  
     “Goodbye John.” Chris replaced the receiver and stood a few moments, thinking over what he had just been told about arenas, desecrated graves and snake designs. Whatever next, he thought to himself. As if in answer, the telephone rang again. He picked up the receiver.  
     “Steyning Museum. Can I help you?”  
     “Is tha’ Steyning Museum?” The voice sounded like a rustic out of a Thomas Hardy novel.  
     “Yes, speaking.”  
     “Is that the Kur-a-tore?” The last word was split into three distinct syllables. Chris winced.  
     “I’m the Curator, yes. What can I do for you?”  
     “Well, I got these ’ere arteeefacts, see.”  
     “What is it this time?”  
     “Bits of Cuthman’s wheelbarrer...but it’ll cost yer!  
     “I see. How much?”  
     “Lotsa dosh, mate! Lotsa dosh!” The voice had gone from West Country to East End. Chris sighed. He supposed some sort of reply was necessary.  
     “Maybe you’d consider making these ’ere arteeefacts of yours over as a gift to the Museum?”  
     “Can’t do that! Gotta make a livin’ ain’t I?”  
     “Alright George, that’s enough! Some of us have work to do!”  
     “How did you know it was me? George sounded genuinely disappointed.  
     “Because you do this It’ll cost yer malarkey something like once a month!”  
     “Yes, well, right. I’ll have to think of something else, won’t I!”

     “You do that. Now I’ve got to go. Kate and Paul have just arrived.”  
     “What, those rogues? I don’t know why you let them anywhere near the Museum!”  
     “Got to go, George ... ’bye.” Chris replaced the receiver and turned to see two volunteers, Kate Pemberly and Paul Banks enter the Museum. They helped out on Thursdays when the Museum was not open to the public.  
     “Morning Kate, morning Paul. That was George Clockman on the ’phone. Bits of Cuthman’s wheelbarrow this time!”  
     “It’ll cost yer!” said Paul in a fair imitation, making them all laugh. Kate put her bag down on the small gate-leg table by the reception area and took off her coat.  
     “What have you got for us this morning, Chris?” she asked.  
     “Well, I know you’re in the middle of recording historic events in the town and Paul wants to give some thought to the Steyning Line railway display but something’s come up.”  
     “Sounds exciting. What is it?”  
     “John Sayles has found what he thinks is some sort of arena which extends from Wykeham Lawn across towards the church but he has no idea what it is or how old. Oh, and they’ve found four graves up at Chanctonbury Ring but they’re empty and the grave slabs covering them have been smashed up and it looks like one’s missing. He said they have some sort of snake design on them.”  
     “That’s unusual.”  
     “Yes, it is,Paul. Anyway, a bit of research is needed on our part so … Kate, would you have a look through the Sussex Archaeology books outside the office and the Grammar School records. Paul, would you go up to the store room and look through the old maps and charts we have there. I’ll tackle the photos and reference books. Look for anything that might help John with this arena thing of his.”  
     “Right. Come on Paul! Oh, before we get stuck in, whose turn for the bun-run?”  
     “Yours.”  
     “You’re right. So…a sticky Chelsea for the Curator and I’ll have something chocolaty. Nothing for you?”  
     “No thanks, got to keep in trim.”  
     “Right. Won’t be long.”  
     “You’d better not be or you know what’ll happen!”  
     “What?”  
     “It’ll cost yer!”

***

     Chris looked at his watch. It said one o’clock. He got up from his chair in the office and walked into the main display area where Kate was working through a pile of books.  
     “Are you finished? It’s lunchtime and I’m not in this afternoon and if you two are heading home, we need to lock up. Where’s Paul?”  
     “Still upstairs, I think. Neither of us have found anything useful for John, I’m afraid.”  
     “It was always going to be a long shot. Give me a minute or so to tidy up and then we can shut up shop.” Chris disappeared back into the office and a moment later Kate heard Paul come down the back stairs, enter the rear display area and call out.  
     “Kate?”  
     “Yes?”  
     “Can you help me replace a light bulb?”  
     “Coming.” Kate entered the rear display area and saw Paul looking down at a large display case at ground level. He had a small light bulb in his hand.  
     “Can you hold the lid up for me?”  
     Kate lifted the Perspex lid of the display. Inside was a well-preserved skeleton.  
     “You know,” she said, “every time I look at Steyning Man I notice how good his teeth are!”  
     “Yes, better than mine!” As he spoke, Paul was unscrewing one of the three bulbs that illuminated the case when a button situated on the wall above it was pressed.

     “It’s a pity nothing was found with him isn’t it,” Kate continued “No grave goods or anything.”  
     “Not even a headstone or a grave slab like they’ve just found up at Chanctonbury Ring.”  
     “That’s right. But they couldn’t excavate the whole area could they, so…hang on…did you say grave slabs?”  
     “Yes. I could have said sarcophagus but it’s harder to say and anyway they’re different as I’m sure you know!” As he spoke, Paul was carefully pushing the new light bulb into its socket.  
     “There, that’s done. Try the switch.”  
     “What? Oh, right, there you go. They all work…Paul, I’ve just remembered something.”  
     “Top down carefully…what are you mumbling about?”  
     “There’s one in the church porch!”  
     “I’m sure there are several.”  
     “Not a switch, a grave slab and I think it has some sort of snake design on it! What if it’s the missing one from Chanctonbury Ring!”  
     “Bit of a long shot!”  
     “I know but we could pop over and have a look, couldn’t we? It’s only just across the road.”  
      “What, now?”  
     “Won’t take long.”  
     “Well OK, just so long as I don’t miss my lunch!” Paul walked through to the front display area and called out.  
     “Chris?”  
     “Yes?”  
     “We’re just off to the church.”  
     “The church? It’s not Sunday, is it?”  
     “No, it’s still Thursday but Kate’s on to something and if we know what’s good for us, we won’t argue! Are you coming?”  
     “You two go on ahead. I’ll lock up and join you. What are we doing there?”  
     “Helping your archaeology friends,” called out Kate, “and maybe solving an age-old mystery! Come on Paul.”  
     “Right but first…”  
     “Not one of your jokes…please not one of your jokes!”  
     “How many people does it take to change a light bulb?”  
     “But we’ve just…Oh alright, I don’t know! How many people does it take to change a light bulb?”  
     “A considerable number because….”  
     “…because?”  
     “Because…many hands make light work!”  
     “For Heaven’s sake, Paul!”  
     “Have you heard the one about the three old gentlemen on the train? The first turns to the second says ‘Is this Wembley?’ The second replies, 'No it’s Thursday’ and the third one says…”

     “Stop it! Come on.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 5  
Friday 27th March - Sunday 19th April

In which Sally Allbright goes home to Letchworth  
for half term and accompanies her mother to hospital

    Much to her surprise, Sally settled quickly into life at Steyning Grammar School. She found the lessons difficult at first but the teachers were very supportive and her growing friendship with Sam and Tom helped enormously. She noticed that although they obviously knew each other before she met them, their friendship with her seemed to have drawn them closer together. She liked the thought of this.  
     The days and days flew by and in what seemed no time at all it was the end of term. On the last Monday, Sally received a letter from her parents enclosing a rail ticket and saying they had some exciting news for her. After lunch on the Friday she, Sam and Tom, together with several other boarders, were given a lift to Shoreham-by-Sea in the minibus and caught the London train. When they reached Victoria Station, Sam said she would come and see Sally and Tom off at King’s Cross before going home to Richmond. Sally noticed that whenever Sam mentioned Richmond, Tom hummed a tune which she did not recognise but which made Sam blush and tell him to shut up. Sally was very glad of the company and especially grateful to Tom when he said he  
would accompany her to Letchworth and then go on to Cambridge from there.

    They took the tube to King’s Cross and boarded the 4.06. When the train began to move, Sam ran along the platform waving goodbye and shouting she would meet them both at Victoria Station on the Sunday they returned to the boarding house so they could all travel on down to Steyning together. Sally waved back at her friend until she was lost from view then sat down next to Tom who passed her a large piece of chocolate.  
     Her parents were standing on the platform when they arrived at Letchworth. They hugged her, said how pleased they were to see her and didn’t she look well. Sally introduced them to Tom who shook their hands and said he couldn’t stop as he was going straight on to Cambridge. Before jumping back on the train, he gave Sally a big hug which left her embarrassed and caused her mother to raise an eyebrow.  
     The Allbrights lived just a few minutes away from the station on Norton Way South. Their comfortable detached house looked out over this quiet, tree-lined road towards a large park where Sally was often to be found as a child, being pushed on the swings or playing in the sandpit. As they drove along, Sally fielded questions about Steyning, how her studies were going and life in the boarding house. Although they had spoken several times on the ’phone, her parents seemed genuinely pleased to hear from her own mouth that she had settled in well and were particularly pleased to hear she had made two good friends. After a few minutes, her mother who was sitting in the front passenger seat twisted round and looked at Sally excitedly  
     “I expect you’re wondering what it was all about!”  
     “What was what all about, Mum?”  
     “The letter we sent with the train ticket!”  
     “Oh, right. You said you had a surprise.”  
     “Well, the surprise is …you’re going to have a little brother or sister!”  
     “What?”  
     “Yes, Sally, I’m pregnant!”  
     “Wow, that’s…” Sally was lost for words.  
     “I know, I know,” continued her mother, “and it’s a bit of a shock for us too! I really didn’t think at my age…”  
     “You’re not old, Mum.”  
     “A bit old to be having a baby!”  
     “Not these days. You’ll be fine, won’t she, dad?”  
     “Of course she will. It’s very exciting!” Mr. Allbright turned briefly and smiled at both of them before turning into the driveway.

***

     It was a quiet weekend with Mr. Allbright insisting his wife take it easy. It was on the Saturday night after she had gone to bed around half past ten, that Sally heard her parents talking in the sitting room. Straining to make out what was being said, she heard her father mention the various disasters happening up and down the country and her mother refer to someone called Peggy. Her father then said something about there being no need as she was perfectly safe and if there was any worry Peggy would…but Sally did not catch any more as her parents had moved through into the kitchen. She lay in bed wondering what this was all about. Who was this Peggy and was it she, Sally, who was perfectly safe or someone else? She wondered if their conversation had anything to do with her mother’s pregnancy but heard no direct reference to it. She eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.  
     On Monday morning, Mr. Allbright prepared to go off to his office in London and Mrs. Allbright, who worked part-time in the local library, had the day off.  
     “Don’t let your Mother do too much,” her father said to Sally as she came downstairs in her dressing gown and slippers.  
     “OK.”  
     Mr. Allbright picked a briefcase, put on his coat, placed a hat on his thinning ginger hair, kissed Sally on the cheek and headed for the front door. When he had left, Sally walked into the kitchen to find her mother on the ’phone.  
     “I won’t be a moment,” she whispered, her hand covering the mouthpiece. “It’s the hospital.”  
     Sally made herself a cup of tea and then waited until her mother had finished the call. “Is everything alright?” she asked.  
     “Oh yes dear, everything’s fine. I need to go in for another routine check-up, that’s all.” Mrs. Allbright looked at her watch.  
     “The appointment’s at eleven-thirty and if you’ve nothing else on, maybe you’d like to come with me.”  
     “That’d be great.”  
     “We have to get ourselves to the ante-natal clinic at the Lister Hospital in Stevenage so we need to leave quite soon. Go and get changed. You’ll need your coat and scarf. It’s cold out.”  
     Mrs. Allbright did not drive, so she and Sally walked down the road and caught the bus to Stevenage. They got off in the town centre and caught another bus to the hospital which was a mile or so to the north. Twenty minutes later they were standing in front of the maternity wing reception desk.  
     “Mrs. Allbright?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “Please take a seat.” The receptionist flashed them both a smile. After a few minutes a doctor appeared and approached them.  
     “Ah, Mrs. Allbright.”  
     “Hello Doctor.”  
     “If you’d like to come this way.”  
     As they walked off Sally thought she heard the doctor say something about a first baby. _A first baby?_ she thought to herself. _He can’t be talking about Mum. It must be someone else_. She sat down in one of the armchairs in the reception area and picked up a magazine from the low table in front of her, flicking through the pages without really taking anything in.  
     “Always exciting, the birth of a baby!” Sally looked up and saw that the receptionist was addressing her.  
     “Er…yes,”  
     “Especially the first!”  
     “Er…first?”  
     “That’s right.”  
     “But…” Sally paused, not knowing what to say. Obviously, the receptionist had made a mistake. But then she thought she had just heard the doctor say the very same thing. She felt she should say something but was interrupted by the arrival of a young couple and with a little wave at Sally, the receptionist turned her attention to them. A heavily pregnant woman then appeared so Sally did not have a chance to resume the conversation before her mother appeared and waved Sally over to her as she walked up to the desk.  
     “I need another appointment in two week’s time, please.”  
     “Right you are.” The receptionist peered at the computer screen. “How about Monday 13th April?”  
      “I’m working on that day. Is there one nearer the end of the week?”  
     “Let’s have a look…. how about ten-thirty on the Friday?”  
     “That should be fine.” Mrs. Allbright turned to Sally. “You’ll be back at school but your dad will be home on that day so he can give me a lift.” She smiled at the receptionist who was looking from one to the other with a puzzled expression on her face.  
     “Friday it is, then. Thank you. Goodbye. Come on Sally.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 6  
Sunday 19th April 

In which Sally returns to school after half term and  
tells Sam and Tom she suspects she’s adopted.

    Boarders were due to return to Steyning on Sunday 19th April for the start of the Summer Term. Sally and Tom travelled down to King’s Cross together and met up with Sam at Victoria Station where they caught the train to Shoreham-by-Sea. Sally had been unusually quiet during the journey down to Shoreham-by-Sea and in the minibus to Steyning.  
     They arrived at the boarding house in time for supper where, after they had finished eating, Mr. Rodale had the usual beginning-of-term notices.  
     “Welcome back, everyone,” he said. “Registration is at nine o’clock tomorrow morning and those of you taking exams next month should be getting down to some serious study. The time will go very quickly. Also, you’ll be glad to hear that the West Sussex  
Archaeological team have now finished digging up Wykeham Lawn and it’s been put back the way it was so you can now use it for sunbathing or, better still, revision! And the swimming pool is now open and there will be swims after homework during the week and in the morning at weekends. Finally, I need to speak with Catherine, George, William and Barbara, please. Pass on.”  
     As he left the dining room, Tom caught up with Sam. “I’ve got a bit of work to do in the library,” he told her. “See if you can persuade Sally to come over after homework. I think there’s something worrying her.”  
     “I agree, Tom. She’s not herself. I’ll see what I can do. Around eight-thirty OK?”  
     “Yeah, that’s fine. I should have the Oliver Cromwell essay wrapped up by then, warts and all!”

***

     “OK Sally, what’s wrong?”  
     “Nothing, Sam, I’m fine.”  
     The three of them were sitting the Junior Library and as was quite often the case after formal homework had ended for the more junior years, they had the place to themselves.  
     “No, you’re not,” put in Tom. “You hardly said anything on the train coming down and you’ve hardly said anything since. Come on, spit it out.”  
     “I can’t.”  
     “I thought we were your friends.”  
     “You are, you both are. You know that.”  
     “Well then...”  
     “I can’t, I really can’t!” Sally half turned away from them and Sam noticed a tear make its way down her cheek.” She looked at Tom who shook his head. A minute or so of silence followed and then Sally looked up at them and when she spoke they could barely hear what she said.  
     “I think I’m adopted.”  
     “Sorry Sally, what did you say?” Sam moved her chair closer to her friend.  
     “I said I think I’m adopted.”  
     “Adopted? Wow, that’s...!”  
     “Tom, I don’t think a word like Wow is really appropriate!”  
     “No, you’re right, sorry.” He looked at Sally. “Would it help to talk about it? And what do you mean by you think you’re adopted?”  
     And then it all came out. Between sobs, tears and Sam passing her tissues, Sally told them about the visit to the hospital, overhearing the doctor talking about a first baby and then the receptionist. When she had finished, she looked up at her friends and saw genuine concern and compassion on both their faces. This did not remove the dreadful ache she felt within herself but it lifted some of the anguish surrounding it.  
     “Sally, can I ask you something?”  
     “Yeah, of course Tom.”  
     “Have you talked to your mum and dad about this?”  
     “No, I can’t. I mean what if it’s all a mistake. They would be so upset and I wouldn’t blame them! The doctor could have been talking about someone else and the receptionist could’ve got the wrong information on her computer.”  
     “If you’d been adopted,” said Sam, “surely your parents would have told you by now. I mean, come on, you’re seventeen! And another thing, what about that trip to France at your last school you told us about. You’d need a passport for that and to get one you’d need a birth certificate. Have you got one?”  
     “Yes, I have.”  
     “Well, there you are then. What’s it got on it?”  
     “When and where I was born, the names of my parents and….” Sally stopped speaking and put a hand to her mouth  
     “What’s wrong?”  
     “I think I can guess,” Tom had a broad grin on his face. “Go on Sally!”  
     “If I was adopted, my birth certificate wouldn’t have my parents down as…well … my parents, would it?”  
     “Exactly, it wouldn’t!” Tom put an arm around Sally’s shoulder. “You are not adopted, Sally. You must have misheard what they were saying in the hospital.”  
     “But the doctor and the receptionist?”  
     “Looks like it.”  
     “Wait a minute.” Sam got up, went over to the reference section at the end of the library and came back with a book in her hand. She turned to the index and then flipped through some pages before she found what she wanted.  
     “I remember Viv was looking at this book the other day,” she went on. “She was helping Sue with a Health and Social Care assignment. Here, look, it says: Adoption Certificates provide proof of birth for adopted persons. An Adoption Certificate replaces the original birth certificate and is suitable for proof of identity.” She looked up at Tom.  
     “That means that Sally could have used one to get a passport, doesn’t it?”  
     “Yeah, I suppose so. What else does it say?”  
     “It goes on: The main difference between the birth and adoption documents is that the adoption certificate shows the adoptive parents, whereas a birth certificate shows the names of the birth parents. It is possible to request a copy of the original birth certificate if your original name is known, along with the details of your parents if the birth took place within the past 50 years.” Sally passed the book over to Sally.  
     “Look, there’s a picture of an Adoption Certificate. Does yours look anything like this?”  
     “No, it doesn’t.”  
     “There you are then,” said Tom again. “Yours must be a birth certificate and if it has your parents’ names on it then you’re not adopted - end of story.”  
     “Well…”  
     “But I tell you what, we can maybe check all this out if you’re still unhappy about it and don’t want to talk to your parents.”  
     “I can’t. I really can’t.”

     “I agree with Sally about that, Tom,” put in Sam. “I wouldn’t be easy; and don’t forget her mum’s pregnant! She doesn’t want to go upsetting her right now, does she?”  
     “No, of course not but, as I say, we can check it out without saying anything to them.”  
     “How?”  
     “Remember that friend of Dad’s called Paul Braithwaite?  
     “The one who went to Steyning Grammar school?”  
     “That’s him.”  
     “How can he help?”  
     “Fancy a trip to Islington?”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 7  
Tuesday 21st April

In which Chris Rennard discovers Steyning Man is missing

    On the Tuesday, Chris Rennard cycled into the small car park by the Library, dismounted and headed for the Museum. He unlocked the door, parked his bike in the foyer as usual and turned off the alarm. Unlocking the inner door, he entered the Museum, switching on the lights before making his way towards the office. Once there, he took off his coat and hung it on a hook behind the door. He then walked through the rear display area, making a mental note to put away the table and chairs which had been left out from a committee meeting the evening before. They had been pushed over towards the wall opposite the window. He was mounting a new display today and Kate and Paul, not normally in on a Tuesday, had offered to come in and help.  
     Chris entered the workroom at the back and decided to make himself a cup of coffee. The kettle was empty so he returned to the foyer where a door on the left led into a small utility room. He filled the kettle and retraced his steps. It was only when he was seated at the table in the workroom, drinking his coffee and waiting for Kate Pemberly and Paul Banks to arrive, that Chris sensed something was wrong. He stood up and, coffee in hand, walked back towards the front entrance. Everything seemed to be in order. He headed for his office and peered in. It looked the same as usual. Walking back into the rear display area, he glanced at the exhibits over by the window. Again, nothing appeared to have been disturbed. In the corner at the far end stood a large wooden work bench with cobblers’ lasts, old shoes and strips of leather on it. The wall behind it displayed information about tanning in Steyning. Nothing was out of place. He turned and walked back to the middle of the room and pulled the table and chairs away from the wall. The new display case in which Paul had replaced a light bulb stood at ground level stood in a recess in the wall. The opaque Perspex cover had a large hole in it which at first sight appeared to have been caused by heat as the rim had melted. His heart in his mouth, Chris bent down and peered in. The case was empty. The Saxon skeleton had gone. He returned to the workroom and he sat down heavily on one of the white plastic chairs and it was here that Kate and Paul found him when they entered the Museum some ten minutes later, his coffee un-drunk and cooling in the mug on the table in front of him.  
     “Chris, what is it?” asked Kate. “You look as white as a sheet! What’s wrong?” For answer Chris gestured towards the door through to the rear display area. Kate and Paul looked at each other then walked hurriedly through it. Chris heard them talking to each other followed by exclamations of surprise and shock. Kate came running back.  
     “He’s gone! Steyning Man’s gone! Has there been a fire? The top of his display case has melted! When did this happen?”  
     “It must have been some time last night because I was in yesterday and everything was alright then.”  
     Paul came back.  
     “I’ve checked the alarm system,” he said, “and there’s nothing wrong with it. Was it armed when you came in, Chris?”  
     “Yes. I switched it off as usual and it seemed to be working normally.”  
     “There’s no indication of a fault in the system. I’ve checked the windows and there’s no sign of a break-in.”  
     The three of them returned to Steyning Man’s display case and stood in front of it. Kate bent down and looked through the hole into the empty case. She looked at Paul.  
     “That bulb you replaced...”  
     “I know what you’re thinking, Kate; that I put it in wrong and it overheated. But it’s not that…look.”  
     Paul pressed the button above the case that activated the three small lights situated at the back of the case. They all came on. Kate peered into the case again and then put her hand in and retrieved something. It was a small silver coin.

    “That’s strange,” she said. “Someone has stolen some old bones that have very little monetary value but left this. It’s the Saxon coin that was minted in Steyning, isn’t it, Chris?”  
     “Yes, it is and you’re right, it’s strange. Why take something essentially worthless and leave something relatively valuable. I’m also wondering why the Perspex cover was damaged. We keep all display cases locked, of course, but if you really wanted to open one, it’s not that difficult. A screwdriver would probably do it. What’s odd is there’s no sign of a break-in. Even if someone managed to get a key to the front door they would set off the alarm and only you and I, Paul, have the means to disable it; so, unless it was you who came in during the night, turned off the alarm and made off with the skeleton, I don’t see how this could have happened.”  
     Normally a comment like this would have resulted in laughter and jokes at Paul’s expense but not today. Chris ’phoned the police while Kate went off to Bennett’s, the nearest boarding house to the Museum, to ask if anyone had heard or seen anything in the night. Paul had a thorough look around to see if they had missed anything but found nothing amiss. It wasn’t long before Kate returned to say no one could help them and Chris told them the police would call in later that morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 8  
Tuesday 21st April

In which Sam visits Chanctonbury Ring

    If Sally, Sam and Tom had been able to look back to a particular day, they would probably have said that the Tuesday afternoon marked the beginning of all that was to follow. They would have agreed there were clues as to what was to come before that day, but nothing they could easily have picked up on.  
     The day began as usual with the three of them meeting up after breakfast, walking down Church Street on the way to Shooting Field and waving to the elderly lady who always appeared at the door of Saxon Cottage as they passed, usually in the company of her large black cat. Sally and Tom had lessons all day but Sam had a free afternoon and told them she was going to walk up to Chanctonbury Ring as she hadn’t been up there yet. Tom had been talking about the old hill fort at supper yesterday and said it was worth a visit just for the views.  
     It was a warm and sunny afternoon when Sam set off after having a bite to eat in the Russell Centre. She told Sally and Tom she would see them at Slogs, the boarders’ teatime, when she returned. The school day finished at twenty past three and Tom met up with Sally in the library and together they walked back to the boarding house. After leaving their school books in their respective rooms they met up again in the dining room for a drink and a bite to eat.  
     “Where’s Sam got to?” asked Sam when they were seated at a table with sandwiches and glasses of orange juice.  
     “She’ll be along in a minute.” Tom took a bite of his sandwich. “Meesh mobably gaw…"  
     “Sam would tell you off for speaking with your mouthful, Tom!”  
     “Yursh. Mmorry.” Tom swallowed the remainder of the sandwich.  
     “I was saying she’s probably gone back to Wykeham House to change.”  
     “She wasn’t there just now.”  
     “Well, it’s nice and sunny so she’s probably still up at Chanctonbury Ring.”  
     “But she said she’d meet us here after school. It’s not like her to be late; she’s always on time for things.”  
     “That’s true. Tell you what, let’s surprise her!”  
     “What do you mean?”  
     “By going to meet her. Come on.”  
     They finished their sandwiches and went over to the Bennett’s coffee bar area where Mr. Weltred, one of the two members of staff on duty that day, was sitting by the coffee bar area.  
     “No Justin,” he was saying when Sally and Tom came in, “You are not having packet of crisps and a coke. It will ruin your appetite for supper.”  
     “Sir, Pleeeese….”  
     “No!”  
     “Go on, Sir, pleeeese...”  
     “Go away, Justin.”  
     “Excuse me Sir.”  
     “And you’re not having anything either, Sally!”  
     “No, it’s not that, Sir. Can Tom and I sign out for a walk, please?”  
     “There you are Justin, healthy exercise instead of stuffing yourself! Right, Sally, where are you two going?”  
     “Up towards Chanctonbury Ring, Sir.”  
     Mr. Weltred recorded their names in the log book and made a note of the time.  
     “Don’t be late for supper.”  
     “We won’t, Sir. Come on, Tom.”  
     They walked up the high street at the end of which was a junction. The main road turned sharply to the right and climbed gently up towards the Steyning Sports Centre and the bypass. Sam and Tom turned left into Mouse Lane. They passed the Old Workhouse on their right as they headed up the narrow road which eventually led to Wiston Park, a sixteenth century manor house and estate now used mainly for conferences. After ten minutes of brisk walking, Tom led Sally up a track to their left leading into the beech woods that covered the north-facing slope of the South Downs.  
     “Are you sure this is the way Sam would have taken?” asked Sally as they picked their way through the trees.  
     “Yes.” Tom held back a low branch so she could get by. “When she was asking on Monday how to get up to Chanctonbury Ring, this is the route I told her about. I even drew her a map!”  
     Ten minutes later and panting slightly from the exertion of walking steeply uphill, Sally and Tom stood on top of the South Downs looking west over towards Chanctonbury Ring. A track, the white of the chalk showing through the cropped grass, led towards a distinctive stand of trees a few hundred yards away. From where they stood, they could see quite a distance in every direction but there was no sign of Sam. They paused to get their breath.  
      “Know what I think?” said Tom. “I reckon Sam’s back in Steyning having a cup of tea in the dining room and wondering where we are! But while we’re here, let’s have a closer look.”  
     They walked on and as they neared the old hill fort, something caught their eye. They quickened their pace and as they approached, they saw someone under one of the trees on the eastern edge of the Ring.  
     “That looks like her!” Sally waved her arms excitedly. “Hi Sam, it’s us!”  
     There was no response, no arm raised in recognition, no movement at all. Sally and Tom looked at each other and then broke into a run. Sam, for it was indeed her, sat with her back against the tree trunk and didn’t move when her friends approached.      

     Sally squatted down and peered at her friend.  
     “Sam, are you alright?” She gently took hold of her hand.Sam looked up at her with a glazed look in her eye. She did not appear to recognise her at all, or Tom either when he squatted down next to Sally.

     “What’s happened to her Tom?”  
     “I don’t know. Are you hurt, Sam?”  
     Sam looked at them both for a few moments and then seemed slowly to come back to reality. She shook her head.  
     “I’m OK,” she whispered and then tried to stand up.  
     “No, you stay there for a moment and rest.” Sally gently put a hand on her shoulder to prevent further movement. Sam did not resist and sank thankfully back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. Sally looked up at Tom anxiously, her eyes seeking answers he could not supply. The three of them stayed like this for several minutes and then Sam spoke.  
     “Thanks for coming to find me,” she whispered. “I’m OK now.”  
     “Are you sure? What happened?”  
     “Nothing really.” Sally leaned forward and her friends were relieved to see she looked more like her old self  
     “Did you have a fall?” asked Sally.  
     Sam shook her head and she pointed towards the middle of the Ring.  
     “You were right.” She looked at Tom. “It’s a lovely place up here and with great views. When I arrived, I walked right around the Ring and then thought I’d better set off home.” Sam held up her right hand and pointed to her wrist. “I haven’t got my watch on so I had no real idea of the time. I was about to leave when I saw some movement in the trees over there.” She pointed again towards the centre of the Ring where smaller trees and bushes grew in abundance. “I thought it might be a deer or some other animal. I went through the trees and came to a clearing in the middle. There’s some sort of excavation there and on the far side of the clearing I saw a man.”  
     “A man?” Sally looked worried. “Did he…?”  
    “No, he didn’t do anything. He looked at me and…well…waved. He was holding something in his hand. I may have waved back but I’m not sure because after that I don’t remember much until just now when you both got here.”  
     “You mean after he waved?”  
     “Sorry, Tom?”  
     “You mean after he waved at you, you don’t remember much.”  
     “Yes, I think so. I remember seeing movement in the trees and going to have a look and I remember seeing this man but after that…”  
     “What sort of a man,” asked Sally. “Young? Old? Tall? Short?”  
     “An old man, I think, and not especially tall.”  
      Tom suddenly stood up.  
     “I’ll go and have a look.”  
      “Tom, Sam has had a fright and we should get her back to the boarding house as soon as possible.” Sally looked at her friend. “Are you able to walk back, do you think?”  
     “Yeah, I’m OK now.” She held out both hands so Sally and Tom could help her to her feet. As she did so the sleeves of her sweater rode up a little and both Sam and Tom noticed a deep cut on her arm.  
     “How did you do that?” asked Sally, pointing.  
     “I don’t know.”  
     “It looks nasty. We’ll take you to the surgery when we get back to the boarding house.”  
     The three of them set off along the track, took the short cut through the woods, Tom going on ahead to clear the path of overhanging branches while Sally helped Sam along. They soon stepped onto Mouse Lane and within ten minutes reached the High Street. The boarding house was five minutes away.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 9  
Wednesday 22nd April

In which Sally and Tom visit Sam in the sick room

    The surgery in the boarding house was situated on the ground floor of Bennett’s, on the side nearest to the car park, the Museum and the Library. It was there that boarders went if they were feeling unwell and it was there that the boarding house matron and her assistant looked after the health of those in her care.  
     Despite Sam saying she was alright, Sally and Tom insisted she go along to Mrs. McKenzie, who listened to her story, cleaned and bandaged her cut and suggested she stay in the sick room overnight so she could keep an eye on her. She was put to bed in the isolation room as it was close to her quarters.

    The next morning Mrs. McKenzie brought Sam a cup of tea and some toast.  
     “Well, Sam,” she asked, “you had us really worried. How’re you feeling?”  
     “I’m OK thanks, Miss. Can I get up and get ready for school?”  
     “I think it’s best if you stay put for a while. That’s a nasty cut you have there but it seems to be healing well. There’s no sign of infection. I’ll ring Mrs. Darnall and tell her you won’t be in today.”  
     “Could I see Sally and Tom after school?”  
     “I don’t see why not. Now have your toast, drink your tea and try and get some sleep.  
     Sam did sleep for most of the day and what woke her was a gentle knock at the door and Sally putting her head around it.  
     “Hello, is it alright if we come in? Matron said it was OK.”  
     “Yeah, of course.”  
     Sally entered the room closely followed by Tom. She sat down on the bed and Tom pulled up a chair.”  
     “Thanks for coming to look for me yesterday.”  
     “No problem.” Tom leaned forward in his chair. “I suppose you still don’t remember anything about what happened?”  
     “Tom, I don’t think Sam wants you playing the detective right now!”  
     “Hey, Sally, that’s my line! I’m glad you’re keeping him in order. Someone has to!” Sam laughed before sitting up and sounding more serious.  
     “I really can’t remember any more than what I told you both yesterday. I walked up to the Ring and followed the route you told me about, Tom. I went up Mouse Lane and through the beach woods. I’m pretty certain I didn’t see anyone at all while I was up there so this old man must have been in amongst the trees the whole time because like I said, I walked all the way around the Ring.”  
     At this point, Mrs. McKenzie came in with a cup of tea and some sandwiches.  
     “Not too much chatting, Sam. You mustn’t overdo things.”  
     “Can I get up tomorrow?”  
     “We’ll see what you’re like.”  
     “Will Sam be OK for Saturday?” asked Tom  
     “Why do you ask?”  
     “Well, the three of us were planning to go to London.”  
     “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Tom. She still needs to rest.”  
     “Yeah, of course.” Tom turned to Sally. “You and I could go but here’s a better idea. I can contact Dad’s friend and ask him to e-mail the stuff we want. Shall I do that?”  
     “That sounds good. Thanks.”  
     “Excuse me.” Mrs. McKenzie looked pointedly at Tom. “What’s all this about?”  
     “Er…It’s for a bit of research. Sally and Sam are helping me.”  
     “Well, Sam’s not back in school yet and has had a nasty experience so don’t either of you go tiring here out!”  
     “We won’t, Matron. Come on Sally.”  
     “OK. See you later, Sam.”  
     “Thanks for coming to see me, both of you.”  
     “No sweat.”

     “Tom, stop using such dreadful expressions!”  
     “Right…sorry.”  
     Sally giggled. Things were getting back to normal.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 10  
Thursday 23rd April

In which Chris Rennard visits John Sayles in Chichester and  
shows him pictures of the grave slab in Steyning Church porch

    On the Thursday, Chris Rennard drove down to Chichester for a meeting with John Sayles. He took the scenic route through Amberley and the wooded countryside north of Arundel before joining the A27 and heading west for Chichester. Parking close to the offices occupied by the archaeology team, he climbed the stairs to the first floor.  
     “Hello Chris, good to see you.” John Sayles opened the door, shook his hand and gestured to a chair by the large table in the middle of the room.  
     “Have a seat. I’ll get us some coffee - black with one sugar, if I remember rightly.”  
     “That’s right, thanks.” Chris sat down while John went back to the door and called down the corridor.  
     “Mark, be a good lad and bring us a couple of coffees. One black with sugar, one white and no sugar.”  
     “Coming up.”  
     “You’re a star!” John came back to the table and sat down.  
     “Thanks for coming, Chris. I know you’re here to tell me about what you’ve found in the church but first what about this other matter you didn’t want to talk about over the ’phone?”  
     “Ah yes, Steyning Man.”  
     “Steyning Man?” John looked puzzled. “You’re not talking about George Clockman are you?” Chris laughed.  
     “No, our new exhibit.”  
    “Ah, your Saxon Skeleton. I didn’t know you called it Steyning Man.”  
     “Name just stuck. He is of course older than George although probably by only a few years - and don’t you dare tell him I said that!”  
     “I promise! He was found just a short distance from where George lives, wasn’t he?”  
     “Yes, the house next door. The lady who lives there was having some building work done and these skeletons came to light under her garage, the most complete one being Steyning Man!”  
     “The police were called initially weren’t they, because a murder was suspected?”  
     “That’s right, but they quickly lost interest when you lot showed he was something like a thousand years old! As you know, the skeleton was found outside the parish boundary at Heathens’ Burial Corner which is very possibly a graveyard where those who were not Christians were buried, or maybe for those who had committed a crime - or both; and talking of a crime, John, that’s our problem.”  
     “How do you mean?”  
     “Steyning Man’s been stolen! When I arrived at the Museum last Thursday, the case where he’s displayed was empty and the Perspex top damaged - a hole was burnt in it. I called the police but, like us, they found nothing, not even any evidence of a break-in which is very strange.”  
     “That’s dreadful! Why would anyone want to…ah, here’s our coffee.” Mark Weston came in with two mugs which he placed on the table.  
     “Thanks a lot, Mark.”  
     “No problemo. Hi Chris, how are you?”  
     “Fine thanks, Mark. I was just telling John about Steyning Man.”  
     “George Clockman?”  
     “No, our Saxon Skeleton. It’s been stolen.”  
     “Really? I’m sorry to hear that. Look, I have to dash so John’ll have to tell me about it later…cheers.”  
     Mark left the room and John passed one of the mugs across to Chris.  
     “That’s very bad news, Chris. Let me know if we can - how’s it go? - help the police with their enquiries.”  
     “That’s often a euphemism for being involved in the crime, John. You haven’t got our prize exhibit down here, have you?”  
      “No, of course not! Perhaps you should have a chat with David up at Horsham Museum. Maybe he’s nicked it!”  
     “There’s a thought!”  
     “Seriously, Chris,” John put down his coffee mug, “Do keep me informed and let me know if we can help.”  
     “I will, thanks.”  
     “Now about the church, tell me what you’ve found. I’m intrigued!”  
     “It was Kate Pemberly. She remembered there was a grave slab in St. Andrew’s church porch sounding very much like those Fiona found up at Chanctonbury Ring.”  
     “You mean the one that might belong to Ethelwulf, Alfred the Great’s father? But that’s not at all like them; anyway, it’s almost certainly a headstone not a grave slab.”  
     “Yes, quite, but we’re not talking about that one.”  
     “We’re not?”  
     “No, it’s the other one.” Chris put a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out several photographs.  
     “Have a look at these.” He spread them out on the table. John picked one up and peered at it.  
     “Ah, the one some believe belongs to St. Cuthman.”  
     “Yes, but as you know there’s no evidence for that at all. We don’t know anything about it except that it was found in 1932 being used as a door step.”  
     “Yes, I remember. Why are you showing me this?”  
     Chris picked up another photograph and passed it over.  
     “Try this one, it’s a close-up.”  
     “OK, funny-looking squiggles - writing of some sort? Runes? Oh, yes now I see it; pretty faint but…how amazing! It’s a snake design and, yes, very similar to what Fiona found up at Chanctonbury Ring. This could be the missing grave slab!”  
     “Could be, yes.”  
     “What’s it doing down in the church?”  
     “No idea, John, but …”  
     “What?”  
     “No, it doesn’t matter, really.”  
     “Come on, tell me. What’s on your mind?”  
     “Well, I have this feeling…no, this is silly; you and I shouldn’t consider feelings in this context, should we? Evidence yes, but feelings…”  
     “Come on, spit it out!”  
     “It’s something I felt coming into the Museum the day Steyning Man went missing. I sensed something - don’t know what exactly and I didn’t mention anything to Kate or Paul. Then I thought to myself, why would anyone want to steal something essentially worthless? Someone takes some old bones out of the case leaves a more valuable Saxon silver coin. None of it makes any sense. I mean we’re not talking about Burke and Hare are we! This is the Twentieth Century - very nearly the Twenty-first!”  
     “Resurrection Men in Steyning!” John chuckled while Chris gathered up the photographs and put them back in his pocket before looking up with a worried expression.  
     “Steyning Man missing, grave slabs with unusual markings, desecrated graves up at Chanctonbury Ring. Something’s going on, John. I have this sense that the past is - I don’t know - stirring, awakening. Something’s happening and I feel somehow there’s more to come before we’re done.”


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 11  
Thursday 23rd - Friday 24th April

In which Sally returns to school and Tom suggests a visit to Letchworth

    On the day that Chris Rennard went down to Chichester, Sam was judged well enough to go back to school. Tom met her and Sally as usual by the front door of Wykeham House and together they went down School Lane before turning right into Church Street and past Saxon Cottage. As usual, the elderly lady and her large black cat appeared when she saw them and waved. The three of them waved back.  
     “It’s weird,” observed Tom as they went through the graveyard.  
     “What is?” asked Sam.  
     “The fact that she always waves at us. Do you think she does that to everyone who passes?”  
     “No idea, I’ve never asked her.”  
     “She’s just being friendly,” added Sally.  
     “Do you know,” went on Tom as they came out onto the lower road leading to the senior school, “I swear she seemed a bit worried when she didn’t see Sam with us.”  
     “She probably noticed there were only two of us instead of three and that might have puzzled her but why should she be worried?”  
     “No reason I can think of.”  
     Thursday and Friday proved to be normal school days and the Friday evening found the three friends seated by the coffee bar in Bennett’s eating sweets and watching Asa defending his champion pool player title.  
     “What are you up to this weekend?” Sally asked Sam  
     “Nothing special. How about you?”  
     “I was going to go home but Mum ’phoned yesterday to say an old friend of theirs has died and they are driving up to Nottingham for the funeral tomorrow.”  
     “Sorry to hear that,” put in Tom. “You were considering asking them about this adoption business, weren’t you?”  
     “Yeah.”  
     “It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?”  
     “I can’t seem to get it out of my mind; and listening to Mum on the ‘phone the other the other day, she sounded a bit worried about the pregnancy - just like a real first time mum would I should imagine. I know you both think I’m stupid and that I simply misheard but, well I’ve been thinking.”  
    “What about?”  
     “I’ve been wondering if my parents have faked my birth certificate.”  
     “Why on earth would they do that?”  
     “What if they’re not my parents?”  
     “Oh, come on Sally!” Tom sounded slightly impatient. “You’re getting yourself into a bit of a state over nothing!”  
     “I know but…”  
     “Stop it Tom!” Sam glared at him.  
     “Sorry. I just thought that...well…”  
     “You were going to bang on about birth certificates again, weren’t you?” Sam was still glaring at him.  
     “Yeah, but I was also wondering if she’d seen theirs.”  
     “Theirs? What do you mean?”  
     “Your parents’ birth certificates.” Tom turned to Sally. “Have you seen them?”  
     “No, I don’t think I have.”  
     “What about their marriage certificate?”  
     “I haven’t seen that either but there is a photograph of their wedding on the wall in the dining room.”  
     “When were they married?”  
     “I think it was in 1978 or 9, I think.”  
     “You don’t know?”  
     “They never talk about it.”  
     “Hmm.”  
     “Hmm, he says! This usually means Sherlock Holmes is about to come up with an idea.” Sam turned to Tom. “Am I right?”  
     “Since you mention it, yes?”  
     “Come on, spit it out.”  
     “I was just thinking about Sally’s parents being away at this funeral.”  
     “What’s that got to do with anything?”  
     “They won’t be home.”  
     “My goodness!” Sam turned to Sally. “What deductive powers! The boy’s a genius!”  
     “What I was going to suggest is that the three of us go up to Letchworth tomorrow”  
     “Letchworth? Tomorrow?”  
     “Hey Sally, Sam’s turning into a parrot!”  
     “Who’s a pretty boy then…well obviously not you, Tom! Seriously, why would we want to do that?”  
     “Because Letchworth is where Sally lives and tomorrow her parents will be away.”  
     “Yeah, we’ve worked that one out. How does that help anything?”  
     “Sally won’t be able to ask them questions but we could have a look at their birth certificates and wedding photo; check a few things out. What do you think, Sally?”  
     “Well…”  
     “Tom, what do you hope to achieve by this?”  
     “Set Sally’s mind at rest. I’m sure that if we look at details of her parents’ lives, we’ll have further proof that she wasn’t adopted.”  
     “Sally may not like us rummaging through her parent’s things”  
     “Actually…” Sally sounded more positive than she had for some time. “… I think it’s a great idea! I’ll ‘phone Mum and Dad to ask if it’s OK for you both to come and stay and you’ll both need to get permission as well, won’t you?”  
     “No sweat.”  
     “Please, Tom!”  
     “What?”  
     “Can’t you…oh never mind. He’s past help, Sally, he really is!”


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 12  
Saturday 25th April

In which Sally, Sam and Tom visit Sally’s home

    After breakfast Sam, Sally and Tom signed out with the member of staff on duty, walked into the High Street and caught the bus to Shoreham-by-Sea and it was not long before they stood on the platform, waiting for the nine forty-six to Victoria Station. From there they took the tube to King’s Cross and caught the eleven twenty-one to Letchworth. Some forty minutes later they stood outside Letchworth Station. Sally led them down a street called the Broadway which led into Broadway Gardens. From there they turned into Meadow Way which led them to Norton Way South.  
     “So, this is where you live, Sally.” Tom looked up at the large white-painted house. “Nice place.”  
     “Yeah, it’s OK.” Sally produced a key and opened the front door. Sam and Tom followed her in. They went through to the kitchen at the back of the house which overlooked a large rear garden.  
     “Let’s sit outside,” suggested Sally opening the French windows. “You two go on out and I’ll make us some tea and see if I can find the certificates.”  
     Sam and Tom went out and found a wooden table and four chairs on the lawn. In a few minutes, Sally reappeared with a tray containing three cups of tea, some biscuits, a large white envelope and a framed photograph.  
     “Before you pour the tea, I have something to show you, Sally.” Tom stood up and produced a crumpled envelope from his jeans pocket and passed it over to her.  
     “It’s a copy of your birth certificate. I told you I would ask Dad’s friend Paul to e-mail it to me. Have a look and see what you think. Read it out if you want so Sam can hear about it.”  
     “OK…at the top it says _Registration District of Stevenage_ \- that’s the place near Letchworth where the hospital is that I mentioned - then _1981 Birth in the sub district of Letchworth in the county of Hertfordshire,_ and underneath that my date and place of birth, my name, my mother’s name and her maiden name."  
     “What was her maiden name?” asked Sam,  
     “Butler. She was Kathryn Butler before she married Dad.”  
     “ _Occupation of father, name of informant and when registered_ come next, don’t they?”

     "That’s right, Tom. It says _Accountant,_ then my mother’s name again as informant and then 2nd November 1981, the date my birth was registered.  
     “And all that seems to be OK?”  
     “Yeah, it does. Hang on a moment.” Sally took up the envelope she had brought from the house and opened it. She took out four certificates, looked at them and handed one to Tom.  
     “This is my birth certificate from the house and it looks exactly the same, doesn’t it?”  
     “Yeah, it does. You’re not adopted at all!”  
     “Well, it does seem I made a mistake.”  
     “Yes,” added Sam, but it’s still strange you heard two people mentioning a first baby.”  
     “I think the most likely explanation,” explained Tom, “is that the doctor and the receptionist were both talking about a different mother altogether. Maybe there’s another Allbright on their books.”  
     “Maybe,” Sally did not sound totally convinced.  
     “What about those other certificates?” asked Sam. “Can we look at them?”  
     “Yeah, of course. It took a bit of time to find them. They were at the back of the wardrobe in Mum and Dad’s bedroom, in a cardboard box.”  
     There were two other birth certificates and a marriage certificate. From the first two they learned that her mother, Kathryn Butler, had been born on 25th May, 1959 to John and Mary Butler who at the time were living in Saffron Walden, a village, Tom told them, close to Cambridge. Her father, Benedict Allbright, had been born on 4th April 1956 to William and Ann Allbright from Eastbourne. Both grandfathers were deceased.  
     “Anything about these that’s odd?” He asked Sally.  
     “No. There’s nothing here that I didn’t know from what Mum and Dad have told me.”  
     “What about their marriage?” Sam picked up the remaining certificate and passed it over to Sally.  
     “Read it out,” suggested Tom.  
     “OK, here we go: Certified copy of an entry of marriage…solemnised at St. Clementine’s Church in the parish of Godric’s Hollow, in the county of Somerset…”  
     “Godric’s Hollow? Never heard of it! Have you Sam?”  
     “No. Sally have you got an atlas?”  
     “In the sitting room bookcase, middle shelf.”  
     “I’ll get it.” Sam got up and disappeared into the house.  
     “I wonder why they didn’t marry around here.” Tom had picked up his mug and was leaning back in the chair. “Your Mum lived in the area.”  
     “No idea. They’ve never talked about their wedding at all and they’ve certainly never mentioned this Godric’s Hollow. I think I would’ve remembered a name like that. It’s rather unusual.”  
     “Yeah.”  
     Sam returned with the atlas which she placed on the table.  
     “There you are,” she said when she had found the relevant page. “Somerset…you have a look.” She slid the atlas towards Sally who peered at the page before pointing to a spot on it. “There it is. It’s quite close to a town called Broomfield.”  
     “What on earth were your parents doing down there?” Tom had leant over to have a look.

     “Maybe my grandparents lived there.”  
     “I suppose that’s possible. What else does it say on the certificate?”  
     “It goes on: When married: 6th January 1979, Benedict Allbright, 23 bachelor, Kathryn Butler, 20, spinster…”  
     “…so, your Mum had not been married before. I was wondering if that might’ve been the case but obviously not. Sorry, go on.”  
     “Rank or profession: Accountant for my Dad, Librarian for my Mum, both resident in Letchworth at the time of their marriage, it says. Fathers’ names and surnames: William Allbright deceased, John Butler deceased. Then at the bottom are the signatures of Mum and Dad and the names of two witnesses and the name of the person who registered the marriage.”  
     “Who were they?” This came from Sam.  
     “What, the names of the witnesses?”  
     “Yeah.”  
     “Cedric Delaney and Bathilda Bagshot.”  
     “Cedric Delaney’s bad enough,” exclaimed Tom, “but Bathilda Bagshot? What sort of a name is that!”  
     “Hey, I’ve met her!” Sally picked up the wedding photo and pointed to an old lady, dressed all in black, sitting on a chair next to the vicar. “That’s her. Apparently, she’s an old friend of the family. When I was very young she used to come and visit us.”  
     “She looks like a very old lady!” Sam was peering at the photo. “Are you sure she’s not one of your grandmothers?”  
     “Definitely not. Mum and Dad always said both my grandfathers and grandmothers had died before I was born. Anyway, as I say, I’ve met her. I think Mum said that plant I’ve got down in the boarding house used to belong to her and she gave it to me when I was born.”  
     “Right.” Tom got up from the table and walked slowly onto the lawn. Sam nudged Sally.”  
     “Our Mr. Sherlock Holmes is on the case! He’ll come up with some startling deduction in a minute!”  
     Both girls giggled as Tom walked back to the table.  
     “Right,” he said again. “Where are we then?”  
     “Sitting in Sally’s garden in Letchworth.”  
     "You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that, Sam. What I mean is where are we with Sally’s little problem?”  
     “No further forward; and does she actually have a little problem, as you put it?”  
     “Possibly, possibly not. Sally, does anything we’ve looked at change things?”  
     “Not really. I mean I know you think I’m silly to think I’ve been adopted but…”  
     “No we don’t,” put in Sam hurriedly. “I mean if Tom and I were in your shoes we’d also be wondering what was going on, especially after hearing two people at the hospital mention a first baby.”  
     “OK, but I don’t think Tom agrees, do you Tom.”  
     “Not sure, Sally, but we have seen nothing in these certificates to suggest anything out of the ordinary, anything that might hint at adoption. But there some things something I find a bit strange.”  
     “What sort of things?”  
     “Firstly, the fact that your parents didn’t marry around here but in some obscure village in Somerset. Secondly, look at the wedding photo. Anything strike you as odd?”  
     Sally picked up the photo and looked closely at it  
     “Looks pretty much like any old wedding photo, I imagine.”  
     “Ah, but does it? Other than the vicar, the happy couple and this old bird Bathilda, there are no other people in the picture.”  
     “So?” This came for Sam.  
     “Wedding photos usually have tons of people in them like parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles - you name it. I’ve seen my mum and dad’s wedding photo and there are loads of people.”  
     “You know, I hate to admit it, Sally, but he’s right. Where are all the sisters and the cousins…”  
     “…and the aunts…whom he reckons on by dozens…” Tom was humming a tune Sam did not recognise.  
     “Now what are you on about?”  
     “Nothing, you ignorant creature!” Tom turned to Sally “There’s something else I’d like to mention which may be significant. Promise you won’t be upset?”  
     “I won’t. What is it?”  
     “When we walked through your house, I noticed there weren’t many photos of family around. OK, there’s this wedding photo you say lives on the wall in the dining room and I spotted one or two of you in the hallway. Maybe there are others in rooms I obviously haven’t seen but…”  
     “No, you’re right. It’s true.” Sally though for a moment. “I mean, I haven’t got any brothers and sisters and both grandparents are dead but there aren’t any photographs of them or any other members of my family and I’ve never seen a photograph album; and, like you say, what about cousins? My parents have never mentioned any. It is a bit odd. Maybe I should start asking questions.”  
     “You could,” said Tom, “but like you say, it might be a bit awkward. There’s probably a perfectly good explanation for all this and if you go asking pointed questions they might well get upset.”  
     “So, what should we do then?” asked Sam. “Just forget it all?”  
     “We could but I don’t think that will set your mind at rest, will it, Sally?”  
     “No, I suppose not.”  
     "Then I have a suggestion.”  
     “Oh no, not another one!” Sam rolled her eyes. “Go on then, what is it this time?”  
     “We go to Godric’s Hollow!”  
     “What?”  
     “You heard. We go to Godric’s Hollow and see what we can find out. That way, Sally gets to avoid asking awkward questions and we have a bit of a holiday in lovely Somerset!”  
     “We can’t go gadding about the country just like that, Tom! Sally, what do you think?”   
     “Well…” A smile appeared on Sally’s face. “I think…. it’s another brilliant idea!”  
     “There you are, Sam.” Tom leaned back in his chair wearing one of his smug expressions. “We’ve signed out for the weekend so we’ve got time get down there.”  
     “We signed out to come here, Tom! We can’t just go swanning off somewhere else! Why don’t we just let everyone know we’re going to Godric’s Hollow?”  
     “Because they probably won’t let us!”  
     “That’s true.”  
     “All sorted out then.” Tom turned to Sally. “Is it possible to copy these certificates? We may need to refer to them; and it might be useful to have one of the wedding photo as well while we’re at it.”  
     “Dad’s got a scanner and printer up in his study.”  
     “That’s great, and when we’ve done this, we can get ourselves back to the station and check on trains for Somerset!”


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 13  
Sunday 26th April 

In which Sam, Sally and Tom visit Godric’s Hollow

    “Are we there yet?”  
    Tom stopped, took off his backpack and put it down on the ground. He rubbed his shoulders and looked around him. They were in a narrow country lane with high hedges on  
either side, obscuring the views. Sam and Sally, who had been walking a little way ahead, also stopped and looked back before taking off their backpacks as well and subconsciously mimicking Tom by rubbing their shoulders. All three were tired. They had left Letchworth early that afternoon, taken a train to King’s Cross and then the Tube to Paddington Station where they bought tickets for Taunton. From there they had taken a bus to Broomfield and, because it was now quite late in the day, decided to book into the local Youth Hostel. Later that evening they had asked the girl on the desk how to get to Godric’s Hollow and she had told him there used to be a bus service but it had been discontinued several years back. The village, she said, was five or six miles to the west of Broomfield and Sam had suggested they walk there the next day.  
     “Can’t be very far now,” Sally peered ahead in the hope of seeing some indication that they were nearing their destination.  
     “You said that half an hour ago! I’m starving!”  
     “We brought sandwiches,” put in Sam. “You said didn’t want any!”  
     “Don’t like tuna!”  
     “Hey, we’ve found something he doesn’t like!” Sam looked at Sally triumphantly.  
     “I thought he ate everything.”  
     “So did I! Our Mr. Sherlock Holmes is not perfect after all!”  
     “Shut up you two! Whose idea was it to go traipsing all over Somerset looking for some non-existent village?”  
     “Yours, Tom!” chorused the two girls as gleefully as their tiredness would allow.  
     “Yeah, OK. Guilty.” Tom lifted up his backpack wearily. “Come on then.”  
     They set off again down the narrow country lane and after another forty minutes or so were rewarded by the sight of some houses up ahead and a short time later passed a sign that said Welcome to Godric’s Hollow. Soon they reached the village itself and saw in front of them a small cobbled square surrounded by thatched timber-framed houses.  
     “There’s the church over there.” Sam pointed across to the far side of the square. To its right there was a pub from which the faint sounds of music could be heard. Close by was what looked like a village store. They crossed the square, passing a war memorial at its centre. An old ivy-covered stone wall surrounded the churchyard. They passed through the lych gate and followed a gravel path towards the church. The west door was locked but they found a side entrance which was open.  
     “Wow!” Tom was looking up at the vaulted ceiling. “What a lovely old church. It looks as old as the one in Steyning!”  
     Sam had picked up a leaflet from a table at the rear.  
     “You’re right,” she said, “It says here that St. Clementine’s Church dates from the eleventh century but there have been more recent additions, just like Steyning. Hey, where’s Sally got to?”  
     “Don’t know. She was here a moment ago.”  
     Sam and Tom walked up towards the east end of the church and heard voices coming from a room off to their right. They followed the sound into what appeared to be the vestry and saw Sally talking to an elderly vicar who was seated at a small desk on the far side of the room. He looked up as they knocked.  
    “Come in, come in! You must be the two friends of young Sally here.”  
     “Yes, we are,” said Sam. “I’m Sam Bolton and this is Tom Bradley.”  
     “I’m the Reverend Swain, vicar of St. Clementine’s. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your young friend mentioned just now that I may be able to help you with something. Do any of you sing, by any chance?”  
     “Er, not really.” Tom looked puzzled at this sudden change of topic. “Why do you ask?”  
     “We are short of singers for the choir.”  
     “Ah, I see. Well, we don’t actually live around here, we’re just visiting.”  
     “No, of course not. Silly of me. It’s just so difficult to get anyone to do this sort of thing anymore. They are all too busy watching TV, playing games on their computer or sending each other messages on…on…what are they called?”  
     “Mobile ’phones…texting,” explained Sam.  
     “That’s it, mobiles and texting. Anyway, enough of my woes; how can I help you?”  
     “Sally,” said Sam, “show the Reverend Swain your parents’ wedding certificate and the photo.”  
     Sally took off her rucksack, undid the front pocket, pulled out a large envelope and passed the Reverend Swain the two items it contained. He looked at them closely before looking up.

     “Is the happy couple mentioned in the certificate the same as the happy couple in the photograph?” he asked.  
     "Yes,” Sally replied. “They are my parents and what I’m wondering - what we’re all wondering - is why they married down here in Godric’s Hollow when they both lived in Letchworth.”  
     “Letchworth…that’s in Hertfordshire, isn’t it? Quite close to Cambridge?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “It’s a long time ago now but I think I recall the marriage.” The Reverend Swain looked at the photograph again.  
     “Well, well, well!” he exclaimed. “That’s old Bathilda Bagshot, isn’t it!”  
     “Yes,” began Sally, “but what we are wondering…”  
     “It’s coming back to me now!” The Vicar sounded quite excited. “It was in 1979, if my memory serves me. I hadn’t been here very long. I did it as a favour to Bathilda.”  
     “Er…you did what as a favour?” Sally sounded confused.  
     “The wedding! I conducted the service down here as a favour to Bathilda. She asked especially. How could I refuse; she did the flowers in the church. Always lovely they were and beautifully arranged; and do you know, I swear hers lasted longer than Mrs. Ringley’s! She had a magic touch, did old Bathilda! How could I refuse her the weddings!”  
     “Weddings? Plural?” Tom looked confused.  
     “Oh yes.” The Reverend Swain looked at Sally. “Your parents’ wedding was not the only one. There were others.”  
     “But why…?” It was now Sam’s turn to look confused.  
     “I’ve no idea young lady, no idea at all. I didn’t ask too many questions.” The vicar suddenly looked worried. “Now I come to think of it, I probably bent a few rules about banns and being resident and so forth. You won’t say anything, will you? I don’t want to be unfrocked! It was all a long time ago, you understand.”  
     “No, of course we won’t.” This came from Sally and Tom noticed she looked a little disappointed. He touched her arm.  
     “Don’t worry,” he said. “This Bathilda was a friend of your parents, wasn’t she, so perhaps they chose to come down here because of this beautiful church. She did it as a favour to them and maybe to other people she knew.” He turned to the vicar. “Does Mrs. Bagshot still live in the village?”  
     “It was Miss Bagshot and no she doesn’t.”  
     “She’s moved away, then.”  
     “No, she died.”  
     Sam, Sally and Tom looked at each other, taken by surprise at this unexpected bit of news.  
     “Yes,” the Reverend continued, “It came as a bit of a shock to us all. She’d lived here for ever it seemed, and although she was an old lady - a very old lady - she was in good health for her years although she didn’t see too well; and then suddenly last December…”  
     “Was it a heart attack or something?” asked Sam.  
     “No one really knows. She lived up the lane off the square, last cottage on the right. The police have cordoned it off and are still trying to work out what happened.” The reverend looked at Sally.  
     “Did you know her?”  
     "Yes, a long time ago. She was an old friend of the family and used to come and visit when I was very young.”  
     “I see. Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news and also unable to answer your questions.”  
     “That’s alright. Thank you for talking to us. We really only wanted to know why my parents married down here in Godric’s Hollow.” Sally decided not to mention the adoption matter.  
     “Maybe the simplest thing would be to ask them.”  
      “I think I’ll have to.”  
     “Right you are then.” The Reverend Swain looked from one to the other for a moment before standing up. “I must get back to my sermon for this evening’s service. Goodbye and good luck.” He shook hands and walked them to the vestry door before waving goodbye.  
     Sam, Sally and Tom left the church and stopped outside the lych gate, looking out across the village square.  
     “Since we’re here and you knew her,” suggested Tom, “why don’t we go and have a look at Bathilda Bagshot’s cottage.”  
     “Shouldn’t we be getting back to Broomfield and catching the train to London?”  
     “A few more minutes won’t make any difference, Sam. It’s still quite early. What do you think, Sally?”  
     “If it’s OK with you two, I’d quite like to see where she lived.”  
     They walked across the square and up a narrow lane. After a few minutes, they saw they were nearly at the edge of the village. Sally stopped in front of a garden gate on the right-hand side. Striped blue and white ‘police do not cross’ tape was stretched across it, extending along the overgrown hedge on either side. To the right was another cottage that looked uninhabited. The front garden was a jungle and part of the roof had collapsed.  
     Tom was about to push open the gate when Sam put a hand on his arm.  
     “Tom, I don’t think we should go in. It’s cordoned off. It’s a crime scene.”  
     “We’re only going to have a quick look. We won’t touch anything. Come on.” He opened the gate and lifted the tape up so Sam and Sally could duck under it and enter the garden. An overgrown brick path led towards the cottage. Weeds were everywhere and on either side it was difficult to distinguish between lawn and flowerbeds.  
     “Bathilda wasn’t very keen on gardening, was she?”  
     “She was very old, Tom,” said Sally, “and in any case the Reverend Swain said she died in December last year and it’s now May; plenty of time for weeds to grow.”  
     “That’s true.”  
     They walked up the path towards a thatched cottage similar to many they had passed on their way through the village. A heavy wooden door stood before them.  
     “Perhaps we should knock.” Tom indicated heavy iron knocker, “You never know, there might just be someone in there. Go on, Sally, you do the honours.”  
     Sally stepped forward and stretched out her arm. The knocker hinge was rusty and quite stiff but she managed to raise it and knock before standing back. As they expected,  
nothing happened and no one answered. Sally knocked again but with the same result.  
     “Well, what do we do now?” This came from Sam  
     Tom was taking off his backpack. He passed it to Sally.  
     “You two wait here,” he said. “I’ll have a look at the back.”  
     “You can’t do that!” Sam looked shocked. “You can’t just go wandering around other people’s property! And it’s a crime scene! You tell him, Sally!”  
     “Well…”  
     “I won’t go breaking in or anything, don’t worry…won’t be long.”  
     Before Sam could say anything further, Tom stepped off the path and onto what was once a small lawn. He disappeared around the left-hand side of the cottage and was lost from view. Sam and Sally took off their backpacks and sat down on the doorstep. They suddenly noticed how quiet it was. The sun which had been behind a cloud now made an appearance and this was the cue for some birds to start singing quite loudly in the bushes on either side of them. Somewhere up the lane a door slammed, followed briefly by the sound of voices. The two girls jumped hastily to their feet when they heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock of the door at their backs. It opened and Tom came out.  
    “Tom, what on earth are you doing? You can’t…”  
    “Come and have a look.”  
    Tom stepped outside and led Sam and Sally across what was once a lawn and through some overgrown bushes on the left hand the side of the cottage.  
     “Look.” He pointed at the cottage wall. A thick growth of ivy obscured most of it but looking up, Sam and Sally noticed a lattice window with small panes of glass some ten feet above them. It was broken. There was a large hole on the left-hand side and several of the bricks had been dislodged and now lay at their feet, along with part of the window frame and pieces of broken glass. The right-hand side was more or less intact but the casement window itself was open and a torn and dirty cream-coloured curtain flapped lazily in the breeze.  
     “I noticed the broken window,” Tom explained, “and climbed up the ivy. As you would expect there’s a bedroom on the other side and it’s in a pretty terrible state. There’s more damage inside across from the landing. I went downstairs. Everything’s very dusty and dirty. I found a key hanging on a peg by the front door. That’s how I opened it. I don’t think anyone’s been here for quite some time. Come in and have a look.”  
     “We can’t just go wandering in, Tom!”  
     “Under normal circumstances, no, but she’s dead and we might find something.”  
     “What do you mean?”  
     “We still haven’t solved the mystery of why Sally’s parents married down here and why the Reverend Swain was helping Bathilda out with all these wedding. There might be some clues here about all this.”  
     “Tom’s right.” This came from Sally. “There might be something here. In any case, she was she was an old friend of Mum and Dad’s and it’s possible they don’t know she’s dead, so if we can find out something…”  
     “Sally’s right,” said Tom. “Come on.”

***

    A smell of damp and decay greeted them as they cautiously entered the cottage and found themselves in a dark, narrow hallway. Tom locked the door behind them and replaced the key on the hook. When he turned, the two girls had disappeared.  
     “Where are you?” he called.  
     “In here.” Sam’s voice came from somewhere down the hallway off to the left. Tom followed the sound of Sam’s voice and entered what looked like a sitting room. An old sofa and armchair were placed on either side of a large smoke-blackened fireplace. Somewhat incongruously, a dressing table stood to the right of a lattice window, the glass in its three mirrors cracked and mildewed. Oak beams crossed the ceiling and peeling yellow wallpaper lined the walls. A threadbare carpet covered part of the floor and a thick coating of dust was over everything. Most noticeable of all were the piles of books stacked in every available space.  
     “Looks like our Bathilda was an author.” Sam was staring at a framed poster on the  
wall. At its centre within a decorative black border she read the words Omens, Oracles and the Goat, by Bathilda Bagshot. Beneath them, also in black, was a picture of what looked like a crouching deer.  
     “Here’s something she wrote.” Tom had picked up a book from the top of a pile on the floor. “It’s called A History of Magic.” He flicked through a few pages. “Looks like some sort of fantasy fiction.”  
Between them they looked through several books and found a significant number had indeed been written by Bathilda Bagshot. After a few minutes, Sally suggested they look at the rest of the cottage so, leaving their back packs on the old sofa, they walked back into the hall. There was a door opposite and when they opened it they found themselves looking into the kitchen. They then walked towards the end of the hall where it was so dark they could barely make out a wooden stair case leading to the upper floor.  
     “Be careful.” Sam had taken hold of the rickety banister rail. “These stairs are steep and narrow.”  
     Sally and Tom followed her up onto a small landing. Oak floorboards, partially covered by a threadbare rug, creaked as they crossed them and entered a bedroom on the left-hand side. There was a large wooden bed in front of them covered in a dark heavily stained eiderdown. To its right stood a large wooden wardrobe and on the far wall the damaged window through which Tom had entered the cottage. Dust was everywhere, together with thesame smell of damp and decay they had noticed when first  entering the cottage. There was another smell, too, which was impossible to identify. They went back out onto the landing and Tom pushed open another door. Behind it was a small bedroom with a single narrow bed under a latticed window.  
     “Another bedroom,” he said. “I’ll have a quick look around. You two go on down.”  
     Tom entered the bedroom. A chest of drawers stood against the far wall next to a bookcase overflowing with yet more books. In a corner stood a hat stand and behind it, somewhat incongruously, an old-fashioned baby’s cradle with what looked like scorch marks down one side. On the bedside table next to a candlestick was a single leather-bound book. Tom picked it up and opened it. Inside was a list of names and addresses, handwritten in black ink. He tucked it under his arm, left the bedroom and went downstairs. Sam and Sally were in the kitchen. An old wooden table stood in the centre of the room with a brass candlestick in the centre. Next to it was a chipped saucer with a box of matches on it. A large cast-iron stove stood in a large inglenook fireplace and under the window on the opposite wall there was a stone sink with a single brass tap. To its right there was a glass-panelled door. Sam put her face to one of the panes and peered out.  
     “That must be the back garden.” she said. “It’s looking quite dark out there; I think it’s going to rain.”  
     She walked back to the table and sat down on one of the four wooden chairs. Sally and Tom joined her. Within a very short time, rain began pattering against the window panes and in the distance there was what sounded like a rumble of thunder.  
     “I wonder if your parents ever came here, Sally.” This came from Tom.  
     “I don’t know. I can’t remember them ever saying anything about visiting her.”  
     “Did they ever tell you she was a writer?” asked Sam.  
     “No, I don’t think so. They might have done, I suppose, but I was very young and may have just forgotten.”  
     “Talking of writing and books, I found this in the small bedroom upstairs.” Tom took the large leather-bound book from under his arm and placed it on the table. “It looks like an address book,” he added, “but it’s odd in that there are no post codes or telephone numbers.”  
     “And no house names or numbers either.” Sam turned over a few pages.  
     “That’s true, I hadn’t noticed that. What do you think, Sally? Do you recognise any of the names?” He slid the book towards Sally who bent over it.  
     “Constance Standing, Shelforth Road Bromwich. Archibald Higgins, Seaview Road, Broadstairs. Arabella Figg, Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging… they don’t mean anything to me at all.” Sally went on reading down the lists of names before stopping suddenly and putting a hand to her mouth.  
     “What is it,” asked Sam. “What’s wrong?”  
     Sally pointed to an entry in the book. Sam and Tom looked where she had indicated and read: Benedict Allbright, Norton Way South, Letchworth.  
     “Your Dad, Sally. So, It’s an address book after all.”  
     “There’s your Mum a few lines down.” Sam pointed to another entry which read Kathryn Butler, Norton Way South, Letchworth.  
     “Yes, it is, but why…” Sally looked puzzled.  
     “Why what?”  
     “Why does it say Kathryn Butler rather that Kathryn Allbright?”  
     “Good point,” said Tom. “Maiden rather than married name.”  
     “She knew her when she was single?” suggested Sam.  
     “Maybe,” Tom was scratching his head, “but then why wasn’t it altered when they married. We’ve got an address book at home and it’s full of crossings out where friends or family have married or moved. On two occasions, I have given Mum and Dad a new one for Christmas but they never copy stuff into it; they just go on using the old one!”  
     “Yeah, ours is the same. Mind you…” Another gasp from Sally stopped Sam from continuing.  
     “Look! That’s me! I’m in this book as well!” Sally had turned towards the back of the book and was pointing to the bottom of a page. The line read: Sally Allbright, Norton Way South, Letchworth.  
     “Why has she got me there?”  
     “You said you knew her.”  
     “Only as a very young child, Tom; and why have a separate entry for me?” Sally looked at her two friends. “Do you have separate entries for different members of the same family?”  
     “That’s another very good point,” said Tom. “You don’t do that, do you. You lump all members of a family together if they share the same address. You don’t give them separate  
entries of if you did, then at least you’d put them all together on the same page. Sally’s family in this book are all spaced out. Sally’s name appears pretty near the end whereas her Mum and Dad are towards the middle and even they’re not together. It’s weird.”  
     “So maybe it’s not an address book at all,” suggested Sam. “Perhaps it’s something to do with her writing.”  
     “Then why has it got my parents’ names, and mine?” asked Sally. “We’re not in any of her books.”  
     “How do you know?” asked Tom. “You might be.”  
     “I think Mum and Dad might have mentioned that!”  
     “There seems to be quite a bit they haven’t told you, Sally.”  
     “That’s true. So, what do we do now?”  
     Sam had gone over to the back door and peered out.  
     “It’s stopped raining,” she said. “I think we should think about getting home.”  
     “Perhaps we should.” Tom got to his feet. “Let’s get out backpacks from the sitting room and get started.”  
     Ten minutes later, they were walking down the lane towards the village centre. They crossed the square and headed up the road to Broomfield. They were quite tired when they arrived after a couple of hour’s walking. They took the bus to Taunton and caught the five thirty-two train to Paddington. From there it was the Circle Line to Victoria Station and the eight-fifteen to Shoreham-by-Sea. They found a carriage that was virtually empty and Tom put their backpacks on the rack but not before taking a book and a large bar of chocolate out of his.  
    “What have you got there?”  
    “Fruit and Nut, Sam. Want some?”  
     “No thanks. I was asking about the book.”  
     “Oh that. I borrowed it from Bathilda Bagshot.”  
     “Tom! That’s theft! It’s not yours!”  
     “I said borrowed, not stolen.”  
     “I see, and when are you going to return it, may I ask?”  
     “Well, Sally’s parents may go down to Godric’s Hollow at some point. Anyway, I thought it might tell us something.”  
     “That’s not the funny address book, is it?” asked Sally.  
     “Not this one, no.”  
     “What do you mean not this one, Tom!” Sam glared at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve nicked that as well!”  
     “Well actually…”  
     “Sally, did you hear what he’s done? He’s stolen two of Bathilda Bagshot’s books!”  
     “Yeah, well, I suppose when we’ve looked at them we could maybe get them back to Godric’s Hollow through my parents like Tom said.”  
     “You’re as bad as he is! So, what book is it, Tom?”  
     “It’s that one we first saw, A History of Magic.” Tom placed the book on his lap and opened it. “It says First published in 1893, this edition 1957.” He looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.  
     “This can’t be our Bathilda. I mean…1893?”  
     “That would make her over a hundred when she died,” said Sam. “It’s possible I suppose, but unlikely.”  
     “Listen to this!” Tom had turned over a few pages. “Non-magic people, more commonly known as Muggles, were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises’” Tom looked up. “What’s all that about? I’ve read books on witchcraft but this is an interpretation I’ve never come across before! It goes on about a school called Hogwarts being founded somewhere in Scotland, sometime before the Norman Conquest.”  
     “That’s a very long time ago,” put in Sally. “What sort of school was it?”  
     “A school for wizards and witches...”  
     “... as opposed to one for us lot who are called - what was it?”  
     “Muggles.”  
     “Hey, Sally, we’re all Muggles, apparently. Did you know that? What else does it say, Tom?”  
     “It says the school was founded by two wizards and two witches called Salazar Slytherin, Godric Griffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, and listen to this, there’s a footnote which says that once railways were established, you got to this school on the Hogwart’s Express which left from King’s Cross Station! I mean, honestly, pull the other one!”  
      “Do you think,” put in Sally, “this Hogwarts had school inspections? I bet Health and Safety was a bit of a problem!”  
     “I bet it was!” Sam laughed. “Students probably flew there on broomsticks!”  
     “Yeah, and they were allowed pets like black cats and toads! Hey, maybe we should enrol.”  
     “Yeah, we should. It sounds more fun than any school I’ve ever been to!”  
     “What about Tom? Should we apply for him too?”  
     “No, he’s too sceptical. He’d never get in!”  
     “Well, it’s a load of rubbish, isn’t it!” Tom pointed to another page. “It says here they had a game called Quidditch. They flew around on broomsticks and tried to get the ball through three hoops placed at each end of the pitch. It mentions there were several types of balls used in the game.”  
     “I think we should definitely enrol!”  
     “You know what I think?” Tom put the book down on the seat beside him. “I think this Bathilda Bagshot was a writer of fantasy fiction and that’s what this book is. Anyway, let me know when we get to Shoreham.”  
     He picked up A History of Magic again and began to read.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 14  
Friday 1st May

In which Tom finds a Mr. Allbright on the Internet

     “What are you two up to this evening?” Tom asked Sally and Sam as they left the dining room after supper.  
     “Not much. We’re still tired from you dragging us all over Somerset, aren’t we Sally! What about you?”  
     “I’ve got some work to do but then... well, I’ve got an idea about something.”  
     “That sounds mysterious!” Sam grinned at Sally. “Our Mr. Holmes is on to something!”  
     “Come along to the junior library after homework and I’ll show you what I’ve found out - or not as the case may be.”  
     Tom sitting in front of one of the computers when Sally and Sam walked into the junior library shortly after eight o’clock. A couple of other boarders were sitting at the large table in the middle of the room, completing some art work. Someone was playing the piano in the music practice room next door.  
     “How goes it, Sherlock?” Sam pulled up a chair and Sally did the same. “Any luck with your sleuthing?”  
     “I don’t know. I had this idea to use the computer to try and find out something about  some of the people mentioned in Bathilda’s funny address book.” Tom pointed to the leather-bound book which lay open in the table beside him.  
     “I thought that if I could find out something about them, it might tell us what sort of a book it is and maybe throw some light on Sally’s family.”  
     “Have you had any luck?” asked Sally.  
     “Not really. I obviously haven’t had time to check up on everyone mentioned but a random selection got me nowhere, except…”  
     “Except what?” This came from Sam.  
     “Well, as I wasn’t getting anywhere with the names in the book, I thought I’d just try Allbright without any forenames.  
     “And?”  
     “Look at this.” Tom pointed at the screen and moved his chair a little to one side so the girls could have a closer look.”  
     “It’s just an old newspaper article, isn’t it?”  
     “That’s right, Sam, it is. Read it out.”  
     “ _Accidental drowning. On August 19th, Benedict Allbright, the son of Mr. and Mrs.William Allbright from Eastbourne, drowned in the sea. He was three years old. The accident happened when_ …” Sam stopped reading and looked up.  
     “That’s terrible! Poor little boy! Why you showing us this sad story, Tom?”  
     “It’s the name, Benedict.”  
     “It’s my dad’s name,” added Sally.  
     “Yeah, and there’s another thing. I found plenty of references to Albrights spelt with only one ‘l’ but this is the only reference I could find to an Allbright with two ‘l’s.”  
     “The little boy isn’t my dad, Tom. He’s still alive so it can’t be him.”  
     “But it’s not just the name, is it!” This came from Sam who was pointing excitedly at the screen “It mentions his father is called William and he’s from Eastbourne!” She turned to Sally. “William and Eastbourne were on your dad’s birth certificate!”  
     “And not only that!” Tom pointed at the screen. “The article was written in 1956 and it says Benedict was three when he drowned. That means he was born in 1953.”  
     “That’s the year my Dad was born.” Sally looked wildly from one to the other. “It must be a coincidence.”  
     “Another coincidence? We’re notching them up, Sally. We seem to be coming across quite a lot of unexplained things, starting with the adoption business and…”  
     “We’ve sorted that out,” interrupted Sam firmly. “Sally misheard what was said at the hospital and we’ve seen two copies of her birth certificate which match!”  
     “I know and I agree, but what about her parents’ wedding, way down in this Godric’s Hollow place? Then there are the other weddings this Bathilda Bagshot seems to have arranged and her cottage in that dreadful state and the Reverend Swain telling us she was dead. Then there’s this old book here with Sally’s name in it along with her parents - and now this newspaper headline.”  
     “So, what are you thinking?”  
     “I don’t really know but when I read this, I wondered if this Mr. Allbright with his two ‘ls’ was possibly Sally’s grandfather.”  
     “But they’re both dead, Tom. My parents told me.” Sally looked from one to the other as if seeking confirmation of the fact.  
     “I know that’s what they said to you but they haven’t told you very much else, have they?” Tom ignored warning looks from Sam.  
     “That’s true but I really can’t…”  
     “…go asking them questions, especially now that your mum is pregnant?”  
     “That’s right. I can’t.”  
     “So, we have to find out things for ourselves, don’t we?”  
     “Well…”  
     “So, I’ve got another idea.”  
     “Oh no!” Sam put a hand to her head. “He’ll have us down in Somerset again!”  
     “No, much closer to home.”  
     “For Heaven’s sake, Tom! Where now?”  
     “Hangleton - just around the corner.”  
     “Why on Earth do we want to go there?”  
     “Because…hang on - no pun intended - I’ll just go and get something.” Tom got up and went through the door at the far end of the library and into the music practice room which doubled as an office for music staff. There was a telephone in there and next to it a telephone directory. He picked it up and returned to the Library.”  
     “Have a look, Sally.” Tom gave the directory to her.  
     “For what?”  
     “Look up Allbright…with two ‘l’s’.”  
     Sally did as Tom asked and thumbed through the directory. After a moment, she found what she assumed what Tom already knew.  
     “There’s only one Allbright with two ‘ls’ listed. It’s a Mr. W. Allbright of 13, Pipers Close, Hangleton. That’s near Shoreham, isn’t it?”  
     “That’s right.” Tom was wearing one of his smug expressions. “He may well be a different person to the one from Eastbourne, the one whose son had the same name and date of birth as your father, Sally, but he’s worth checking out, don’t you think?”


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 15  
Saturday 2nd May

In which Sam, Sally and Tom visit Mr. Allbright in Hangleton

     At breakfast on the Sunday, Sam cornered Tom and mentioned some reservations she had about going to Hangleton.  
     “Why would her parents lie to her? They’ve told her the grandparents are all dead and we’ve seen their marriage certificate and it says deceased against their names.”  
     “Only the grandfathers, Sam. We don’t know about the grandmothers as they don’t get a mention.”  
     “But her parents told her they’d all died! It seems a bit of a waste of time to go to Hangleton, if you ask me. Can’t we just leave it?”  
     “Of course we can, Sam. It’s just that I feel Sally will not be fully satisfied until we have explored every avenue; and we’ve agreed she can’t very easily go and ask her Mum and Dad these sorts of questions at the moment, can she?”  
     “No, I can see that.”  
     “So, I think we should go to Hangleton. After all, it can’t do any harm. I mean, I don’t think for one minute this Mr. Allbright is her grandfather but it’s worth checking out.  
     The three of them spent most of the day discussing whether or not to go but in the end Sally agreed it could do no harm. She suggested they leave it as late as possibly so that there was more of a chance this Mr. Allbright was in. After supper, they walked over to Bennett’s to sign out.  
     “Where are you three off to now?” enquired Mr. Liffey who was on duty that weekend.  
     “Hangelton, Sir, to visit a possible relation of Sally’s; and can we have an extension?” As the three of them were in Year 12 they were allowed out until 10 o’clock but could ask for extra time. This was at the discretion of the member of staff.  
     “Who is this person, Sally?”  
     “Er, maybe a relative.”  
     “But you’re not sure?”  
     “No sir.”  
     “Well if it was just you going I would probably say no but since you are in the exalted company of Miss Bolton and Mr. Bradley, I don’t see a problem. How are you getting there?”  
     “Bus, Sir.”  
     “Just so long as Kepi’s not driving you! Go on, off you go.”  
     “What was that about Kepi?” asked Sally as they walked up towards the High Street.  
     “When she was in Year 12,” explained Sam, “she had a car which no one knew about. She used to park it over by the church and was in dead trouble when Mr. Rodale found out about it!”  
     They caught the bus to Shoreham-by-Sea and then took another to Hangleton which lay roughly north-east, just off the A 27. They got off near the centre of the village and Tom got out a street plan he had brought with him. Twenty minutes of walking brought them to the front door of 13, Pipers Close, to the north of the village.  
     “Go on Sally, you ring.” Tom gestured to the bell situated on the wall to the right of the door.  
     “OK.” Sally took a deep breath, stepped up to the door and pressed the button. They could hear ringing somewhere in the house but no one opened the door.  
     “Doesn’t look as if anyone’s in.” said Sam. “Try again, Sally.”  
     Sally rang a second time and this time was rewarded by sounds from within and the door being opened. An elderly man stood before them on the threshold. He was dressed quite formally in grey trousers and a well-worn tweed jacket. He was leaning on a walking stick and looked a bit cross.  
     “Alright, alright! I’m not as quick as I was! And if you’re selling something you can clear off. I never buy anything on the doorstep.”  
     “Oh no, we’re not doing that,” said Tom hastily. “Are you, er, Mr. Allbright…Mr. William Allbright?”  
     “Who’s asking?”  
     “My name’s Tom Bradley and these are my friends, Sam Bolton and Sally Allbright. We’re from Steyning Grammar School.”  
     “I see. Well, yes, I am he. What can I do for you?  
     “Mr. Allbright,” began Sally, “I was wondering…”  
     “What are you wondering, young lady? That I might in some way be a relation of yours because of your name?”  
     “Er, yes….in a way.”  
     “May I ask if you spell your surname with two ‘ls’ or one.”  
     “Two.”  
     “Well now, that’s interesting.” Mr. Allbright voice took on a friendlier tone. “There aren’t many of us, you know, and since you’re obviously not selling anything and don’t look the sort of youngsters who beat up and rob old people, you had better come inside and tell me what this is all about.”  
     Sam, Sally and Tom followed Mr. Allbright down a narrow hall and into the sitting room where they were invited to sit on the sofa while he took the armchair opposite.  
     “Sally,” said Tom, “show Mr. Allbright your parent’s marriage certificate.”  
     Sally put her hand into the small shopping bag she was carrying and pulled out a brown envelope. She took out the certificate and handed it to Mr. Allbright who put on a pair of reading glasses and looked carefully at it. After a moment, he lowered the certificate and looked over at his visitors.  
     “Well, well, well! This is most interesting! As I mentioned a moment ago, most with our surname spell it with a single ‘l’. There are not many with two.”  
     “We noticed that,” said Tom. “That’s why we thought you might be related to Sally in some way - possible her grandfather.”  
     “Grandfather?” Mr. Allbright looked hard at Sally, “Surely you know your grandparents!”  
     “No, I’ve never met them. I’ve been told they died before my parents married.”  
     “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, young lady, but I am not your long-lost grandfather for the simple reason I have no grandchildren. My wife died a few years ago and my son is also dead.”  
     “It sounds as though we are mistaken.” Sally had got to her feet. “We’re sorry to have taken up your time.”  
     “That’s alright, my dear.”  
     “Yes, we really should be going.” Sam also stood up. “You’ve been most kind.”  
     “Not at all.” Mr. Allbright also got up and took hold of his walking stick. He led the way down the hall and opened the front door. They shook hands and Sam apologised once again for disturbing him.  
     “I’m sorry I was not able to help.” He looked at Sally. “Of course,” he went on, “It’s very possible we are distantly related in some way. As I say, most Allbrights are spelt with one ‘l’ - much more common - and there are one or two of them in our local graveyard and…ah, that reminds me…mention of the graveyard…I wonder…” Mr. Allbright paused and appeared to have thought of something.  
     “Would you mind waiting there a moment?” He disappeared back into the house, reappearing a minute or so later holding a bunch of flowers.  
     “I wonder if you would do a little something for me,” he continued. “My son is buried just up the road in St. Helen’s Church graveyard. Would you mind placing these flowers on his grave? I meant to go up yesterday but I have not been walking too well. My knees are giving me a bit of gip.”  
     “No problem at all, Mr. Allbright,” Tom took the flowers from him. “Is the church quite close?”  
     “Oh yes,” Mr. Allbright pointed down the road. “When you come out of Pipers Close,  
turn left on to Hangleton Valley Drive. Then take the first on the right which is called Downsview and you’ll see the church straight ahead on your left, just after a sort of traffic island. My son’s grave is on the far side of the church quite close to what some call the Angel of Death."  
     “The Angel of Death?” Tom looked puzzled.  
     "A rather distinctive tomb; you can’t miss it.”  
     “I’m sure we’ll find it.”  
     “It really is very kind of you. There’s a vase on the grave for the flowers. I take it you came by bus?  
     “Yes, we did.”  
     “To get to what I call the new village centre where your bus stop is, keep going past the church and turn right onto Hangleton Way.”  
     “Er, excuse me, Mr Allbright.” Sam sounded puzzled. “What do you mean by the new village? There’s only one here, isn’t there? Hangleton?”  
     “Yes and no. Nowadays, they refer to the whole village as Hangleton but where you are now is part of the old village.”  
     “So, we are not in Hangleton?” Sally sounded puzzled.  
     “Strictly speaking we are in Little Hangleton up here. Now I must not detain you any longer. Thank you for placing the flowers on my son’s grave; very kind of you.  
     “Not at all,” said Tom and Sam heaved an almost audible sigh of relief when he did not say something like no sweat; but Tom was not quite finished.  
     “Er…Mr. Allbright, can I ask something?”  
     “Fire away, my boy!”  
     “Have you always lived here in Hangleton - sorry Little Hangleton?”  
     “For quite some time now. Why do you ask?”  
     “No reason, I was just wondering where you…”  
     “Eastbourne if you are wondering where I used to live before coming here.”  
     “Eastbourne.”  
     “Yes, that’s right. Now, thank you again for placing the flowers on my son’s grave…goodbye.”  
     With that, Mr. Allbright went inside and closed the door.

***

    St. Helen’s Church was situated on slightly higher ground with several young trees dotted around the grass bank which surrounded it. Sam, Sally and Tom stood facing the south side of the church and from there it looked rather like two flint cottages pushed together, the smaller one at the east end. There were irregularly spaced lancet windows and a squat tower at the west end.It was getting dark as they left the road and walked up the path that led towards a wooden gate set in the flint wall that surrounded the graveyard. Sam pushed it open and they entered.  
     “Mr. Allbright said his son’s grave was close to the Angel of Death, didn’t he?” asked Sally.  
     “That’s right,” Tom replied. “He said we would recognize it when we saw it. Come on.” He led them around the east end of the church and stopped suddenly.  
     “That looks like it,” he said, pointing over towards the far wall where a large stone structure was silhouetted against the darkening sky. They walked over and found themselves standing in front of what was a truly remarkable tomb. A tapered plinth supported a large stone casket with writing inscribed on it. The life-size statue of a hooded faceless figure with enormous wings stood to the left of the tomb. One of the wings was draped across the top of the casket. The figure held up a scythe in a skeletal hand. The effect was frightening and the three of them instinctively took a step back.  
     “It’s…sinister.” Sally’s voice came out as no more than a whisper.  
     “Yeah,” Tom pulled a small torch out of his pocket and approached the tomb.  
     “Be careful.” Sam had no reason, she realised, to say these words. They just came out.  
     “It’s difficult to make out the writing. It looks like Thomas R- something. Then there’s what looks like Mary and another Tom.”  
      “It looks like Roddle to me.” Sam had come up behind him.  
     “That’s not an ‘o’, that’s an ‘i’.”  
     “Then it’s Riddle, not Roddle - unusual name.”  
     “Yeah.”  
     “I think I’ve found Mr. Allbright’s son’s grave.” Sally’s voice came out of the semi-darkness a short distance away from where Sam and Tom were standing. Tom shone his torch in her direction and saw she was standing next to a more conventional grave with a granite headstone. They walked over.  
     “Shine the torch, Tom,” said Sam. “We want to make sure we’ve got the right grave!”  
Tom obliged and they all read what was written there:

I _n remembrance of Benedict Allbright._  
_Born 4th April 1953_  
_Died 2nd April 1956_  
_Gone but not forgotten_

     “There’s the flower vase, Sally.” Sam indicated an earthenware pot that stood amongst heathers which had been planted on the grave. Sally did not move and had covered her mouth with a hand.  
     “What is it?” asked Sam.  
     For answer Sally pointed at the headstone.  
     “You’re going to tell us that’s your dad’s date of birth, aren’t you?” said Tom and Sally nodded.  
     “I know we’ve talked about it but it’s weird seeing it there on a gravestone; and the day and month are correct. They are the same as my dad’s! What are the odds on those being just coincidence?”  
     “As I’ve said before, Sally, we seem to be beyond coincidences.” Tom indicated the grave in front of them. “We have here the grave of a boy who died in 1956 with the same name and birth date as your father who could well have been born in Eastbourne where your father was born!”  
     In the light of the torch both Sam and Tom could see Sally was genuinely shaken. Sam touched her arm but before she could say anything further, Tom had switched off his torch and had crouched down behind the headstone.  
     “There’s somebody over there by the wall,” he whispered. “Get down behind the headstone…quick!”  
     Both girls did as Tom said but Sam raised her head slowly and peered into the gathering darkness.  
     “I can’t see anything. No, wait a minute, there is someone over there and it looks like he’s carrying something.”  
     The three of them peered over the top of the headstone and sure enough someone was moving around the Angel of Death. He - if it was a he - appeared to be carrying something bulky but it was too dark to make out what it was. There was no sound but suddenly a light flared behind the Angel of Death tomb, a brilliant bright white light of the sort given off by a magnesium flare. After about a minute it suddenly vanished and a short time after that there was a loud crack which made Sam, Sally and Tom jump and then there was silence. They remained where they were for several minutes longer, not daring to move.  
     “Do you think that was someone digging up bodies,” whispered Sam nervously.  
     “Shouldn’t think so,” Tom was peering over the top of the headstone. “People don’t do that anymore; anyway, I reckon it would take much longer than that to dig up a body.”  
     “So, what was he doing then and where’s he gone? I didn’t see anyone leave.”  
     “Nor did I. Maybe there’s a door in the wall. I think we should go and have a look.”  
     The three of them rose tentatively from behind the headstone and walked slowly back towards the Angel of Death. Tom put on his torch and waved it around.  
     “Is anybody there?” he called, sounding braver than he felt. Sam’s grip tightened on his arm. There was no reply and the beam of Tom’s torch revealed nothing.  
     “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll have a quick look round the back.” He disappeared and Sam and Sally stood stock still in the darkness. They heard a car pass on a road, its headlights sweeping the side of the church behind them. They then heard Tom shout out and this startled them.  
     “Come and see what I’ve found!”  
     The two girls groped their way around the Angel of Death and found Tom shining his torch on what looked like a newly dug grave. The earth was weed-free and there was no headstone, not even the small wooden cross which is often placed on a new plot before the stone mason gets to work.  
     “Do you think the man we saw dug this?” asked Sally  
     “No way,” replied Sam. “He wouldn’t have had long enough. What do you think, Tom?”  
     “I agree. It was probably here all along. We just didn’t notice it.”  
     They left the graveyard the way they had come in and made their way back to the centre of Hangleton where they caught a bus to Shoreham and then another to Steyning. Sally was very quiet on the way back and Sam and Tom knew better than to engage her in conversation.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 16  
Sunday 3rd May

In which Tom looks up Sally’s parents on the internet  
and they decide to visit Chanctonbury Ring again

     “So, what’s going on with all this?”  
     It was Sunday morning and Sam, who had asked the question, was sitting with Sally and Tom in the small music practice room off the junior library.  
     “No idea at all,” replied Tom. “Before our visit to Hangelton - Little Hangleton according to old Mr. A. with his two ‘ls’ - I would’ve said we were looking at coincidences and with Sally what that doctor said in the hospital.  
     “Mishearing twice,” Sally corrected him. “The doctor and the receptionist.”  
     “OK, but we looked at your birth certificates and there seemed to be no problem with them, did there? But then there’s Godric’s Hollow, the weddings, Bathilda Bagshot and that strange address book which may not be an address book at all.”  
     “And what about the grave we saw yesterday,” put in Sam. “How can Benedict Allbright’s name and birth date be the same as Sally’s Dad’s? I know you don’t agree but surely that really must be a coincidence.”  
     “I don’t know but as I keep saying, I’m beginning to feel we’re beyond coincidences. One possibility we haven’t considered is that her Sally’s Dad has a false identity. If it’s this little Benedict Allbright’s, then he’s taken the name and date of birth of someone who died very young.”  
     “But why?”  
     “No idea.”  
     “Isn’t that a bit risky doing that? People could check up on it.”  
     “Only if they had reason to do so, Sam, like we did. If it hadn’t been for all the other things, we would never have dreamt of checking on something like that, would we?”  
     “No, I suppose not.”  
     “I’ve just had a thought about my Mum!” Sally sounded excited and worried at the same time.  
     “What about her?”  
     “If Dad has a false identity then maybe she has one too!”  
     “It’s possible.” Tom was already out of his chair. “Come on, let’s go and check.”  
     He led the way into the Junior Library and sat down at one of the computers. He switched it on and waited impatiently for it to start. When it was up and running, he turned to Sally.  
     “Remind me. What was your Mum’s maiden name and date of birth?”  
     “Kathryn Butler, born on 25th May 1959.”  
     “OK, so we’re checking up on a birth and then looking for a death at some point very soon after that."  Tom typed in the relevant information and pressed enter. After a moment two names appeared on the screen. One was a Katherine Butler, born in 1961 and the other a Kathryn Butler, born 1967.  
     “They don’t look very likely do they?” Sam looked at Sally.  
     “No, both born too late.”  
     “OK, I’m now on to deaths.” Tom was typing in some more instructions as he spoke.  
     “I’m looking for a Kathryn Butler dying between 25th May 1959 and, shall we say, January 1961.” He pressed enter.  
     “Nothing.” Sam was peering at the screen. “It doesn’t look as though your Mum doesn’t have a false identity.”  
     Sally nodded but didn’t say anything. Tom turned to look at her.  
     “This must all be a bit of a shock.”  
     “You can say that again!”  
     “This must all be a bit of a ….”  
     “Stop being silly, Tom!” Sam glared at him.  
     “Sorry, but remember, Sally, we might be completely on the wrong track with all this. There’s probably a perfectly simple explanation but we just haven’t seen it.”  
     “Maybe but there’s something weird going on, isn’t there.”  
     “I’ve just had another thought.” This came from Sam.  
     “What is it?”  
     “No, I…”  
     “Come on, spit it out.”  
     "Well, I was just thinking that if your Dad has a false identity, Sally, and although it doesn’t look like it, maybe your Mum as well, then…”  
     “...maybe I do, too? Is that what you’re thinking?”  
     “Yeah.”  
     “OK, let’s have a look.” Tom turned to Sally.  
     “When were you born?”  
     “September 13th 1981.”  
     “Right, let’s see...” Tom typed some more words, pressed ‘enter’ and leaned back.  
     “I’ve done the same as we did for your parents. I’m looking for a name and date of birth that matches you and then a death soon afterwards.” He peered at the screen as a list of names appeared.  
     “Nothing. No Sally Allbrights appear to have died in the six years before your birth. There’s a Susan Albright with one ‘l’ who died in 1980 and a Mary - again with one ‘l’ - in 1981 but no other deaths in the ten years after that date at all.”  
The three of them stopped talking and looked at each other as they thought about the implications of all this. Sam broke the silence.  
     “What if…”  
     “What if what?”  
     “What if what happened to me up at Chanctonbury Ring…no that’s silly…can’t be.”  
     “What can’t be?”  
     “I’m just thinking aloud.” Sam looked at Sally. What if your parents are - I don’t know - spies or something, then maybe…”  
     “… maybe someone’s after me? Is that what you’re thinking? They thought it was me up at the Ring?” A look of fear appeared on Sally’s face.  
     “Come on Sally. Sam’s idea is ridiculous! How can there possibly be a connection. Apart from anything else, we were the only ones who knew you’d gone up there and it was a last-minute decision, wasn’t it? If it hadn’t been such a nice day you wouldn’t have gone!”  
     “They might have been spying on me; and I’ve just remembered something else.”  
     “What’s that?” Sam and Tom both spoke together.  
     “When I was home during the Easter holidays and had gone to bed, I overheard Mum and Dad talking downstairs in the living room. I didn’t hear the whole conversation because I was upstairs and they’d walked through into the kitchen. They were saying something about being safe and the name Peggy was cropped up. If they were talking about me being safe, Tom, then perhaps there is something in what Sam is saying.”  
     “I really don’t think it’s at all likely. For a start, if they were concerned about your safety and if Sam is right about being mistaken for you, then your parents seem to have sent you to the very place where you were more at risk! It makes no sense at all but I have been thinking we ought to go up to Chanctonbury Ring and see if we can find out a bit more about what actually did happen up there.”  
     “I don’t think Sam will want to come!”  
     “Just you and me then.”  
     “What do you think, Sam?”  
     “If you two are going then I’m coming too!”  
     “Atta girl!”  
     “Tom, you do say the most stupid things!”  
     “I know!”


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 17  
Monday 4th May 

In which Sam, Sally and Tom re-visit Chanctonbury Ring

     On the Monday, Sam, Sally and Tom decided to go and have a look around Chanctonbury Ring after school. They signed out with the member of staff on duty and, as before, walked up the High Street before turning left into Mouse Lane. The climbed up through the beach woods and emerged on the top of the South Downs to the east of Chanctonbury Ring. They walked along the path towards the old Iron Age hill fort and stopped by the tree where Sam had been found three day earlier.  
     “The trouble is,” said Tom, “we don’t know are we looking for. Sam remembers nothing and all we have to go on is something about an old man. I mean, what are we looking for, a Zimmer frame?”  
     “Don’t be silly, Tom, and stop being ageist.”  
     “I wasn’t being serious, Sam, it’s just …well, what clues could there be?”  
     “I don’t know but let’s look for anything unusual; and I suggest we split up. I’ll stick with Sally. Now that she was up here again, Sam felt nervous about being on her own. Tom nearly mentioned that this wasn’t exactly splitting up but remembered what had happened to Sam last time she was up here and said nothing on the subject. Instead, he suggested the two girls continued along the path until they reached the western edge of the hill fort and then worked their way in towards the middle.  
     “I’ll cover this side,” he added. “Meet you in the middle. Give a shout if you find anything significant.”  
     “So, we get to do all the walking, do we?” asked Sam.  
     “You’re both younger!”  
     “Of course; sorry I asked.”  
     “You’re welcome.”  
     The two girls set off westwards along the path and Tom walked towards the northern edge of the hill fort, following the line of the earthwork. He was beginning to feel the whole idea was a waste of time. Earlier, it crossed his mind that there might be a trail of Sam’s blood to follow but then thought it highly unlikely anything would be visible after three days. When he reached the edge of the Downs there was a clear view right across a large swathe of West Sussex. He turned and climbed over the low earthwork and worked his way slowly inwards, searching the ground as he went but found nothing significant. He noticed that there had once been much larger and older trees growing amongst the saplings there but only the stumps remained. It wasn’t long before he found himself at the centre. Here there was a clearing and a wire fence enclosure. He walked over and looking down into some sort of excavation, saw the remains of flint walls which suggested a small building had once stood there. He remembered reading about the discovery of a Romano-Celtic temple in 1909 and assumed this was all that remained of it. The walls were only just beneath the surface but just beyond them and still within the protective wire fence there was a deeper excavation, a pit about fifteen feet square and six feet deep. More flint wall had been exposed to a greater depth. The bottom of the pit was in shadow. Tom though it worth having a closer look. It crossed his mind that Sam might have accidentally fallen into this pit and some kindly old gentleman who happened to be passing had helped her out. He looked to see if anyone was around and then climbed over the wire fence and walked over to the pit. He was able to step onto the top of one of the flint walls and then lower himself down using protruding pieces of stone as hand and footholds. When he was at the bottom he made out four shallow depressions in the ground that looked as if they might have been graves. Fragments of stone lay around and Tom picked up a piece and looked closely at it. It was inscribed with some strange writing he did not recognise. He picked up another piece which appeared to have some sort of design on it. He was bending down to pick up a third when he suddenly felt dizzy. He looked up and had the sensation that the walls of the pit were closing in, about to fall on him at any moment. As a child, he had once experienced something similar when out at night with his parents. They had passed close to a tall building which seemed in the moonlight to be about to topple over. Fearfully, Tom ran to the flint wall and scrambled up it as fast as he could. He stood shakily on the top of it then jumped onto the grass at the edge of the pit. It was at this point that he heard voices and looking up he was much relieved to see Sam and Sally. He waved to them and they waved back. He moved towards the wire fence and climbed over it. When he looked up again, he noticed there was a third person with them, another girl who was limping quite badly.  
     “Hi Tom. Are you OK? You look a bit shaken” Sam looked concerned as she came up to where he stood.  
     “Yeah, I’m alright. I think I must have got a bit claustrophobic down there.” Tom indicated the pit behind him.  
     “Not like you to suffer from that sort of thing. What were you doing down there anyway?”  
     “Just having a look around. Did you find anything?”  
     “Only Ginny here,” put in Sally. She turned to the girl who, like her, was dressed in jeans and a jumper. She was closer to Sally’s height than hers and had distinctive ginger hair.  
     “Ginny, this is Tom. He’s a friend of ours.”  
     “Hi, Ginny, nice to meet you. Have you hurt your leg?”  
     “I think I’ve sprained my ankle. I didn’t notice a rabbit hole and my foot went into it.”  
     “Yeah, there are lots of them up here. You have to watch it.”  
     “Ginny was telling us she’s looking for a person who went missing on 21st April,” Sally explained.  
     “That’s over a week ago,” said Tom.  
     “I’ve only just found out,” explained the girl called Ginny. “We’re all a bit worried. Have you seen anyone?”  
     “Nobody at all.” Sam looked at Tom who nodded his agreement. She turned to Ginny. “This person you’re looking for. Can you describe him or her? Man, Woman? Old, Young?”  
     “I’m looking for a man, an old man.”


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 18  
Monday 4th May

In which they all return to Steyning and meet Peggy Deys.

     Sam, Sally, Tom and Ginny set off eastwards from Chanctonbury Ring towards the track that led through the beach woods and down to Mouse Lane. All three had registered that Ginny had mentioned an old man but none of them said anything because she was obviously in some pain with her sprained ankle. They had persuaded her to accompany them to the boarding house where they were going to ask Mrs. McKenzie, the matron, to have a look at it. They entered the beech woods and Ginny found this bit difficult, needing the support of Sam and Sally on either arm, taking the weight off her ankle. Tom went ahead and held aside bushes and the lower branches of the trees to allow them to pass more easily. It was slow going and took them almost hour to reach Church Street where they paused to give Ginny a rest. She was still obviously in pain but said nothing.  
     “Let’s go to Bennett’s via the road,” suggested Sam. “If we go down Church Lane past Wykeham house and the dining room, there are steps down to Bennett’s playground which Ginny might find difficult. If we go past the library, it’s flat.”  
     “Good thinking,” Tom turned to Ginny. “Are you OK to go on? It’s not far now.”  
     “Yeah, I’m OK.”  
     “They moved off and crossed the road in front of the old school building. As they passed Saxon Cottage, Tom noticed the elderly lady at the window. She peered at them closely but instead of waving as he expected, disappeared rapidly from sight. Before they had gone very far, the front door of the cottage opened and she came quickly out and crossing the road without looking very carefully - luckily no cars were passing - came towards them. This was most unusual; she’d never actually approached them before. The four of then stopped and waited for her to come up to them.  
     “Well, well, well, it’s Ginevra, isn’t it?” The elderly lady was quite out of breath.  
     “Er...yes. I’m sorry, do I…?” Ginny looked confused.  
     “I think you must be mistaken,” put in Tom. “She’s not called Ginevra.”  
     “No, I am actually.” Ginny looked at him. “Everyone calls me Ginny but I’m actually Ginevra.” She turned to the elderly lady. “How do you know my name?”  
     “My dear, it was a bit of an educated guess really, but with that hair of yours, well, you must be a Weasley!” The elderly lady laughed. She had now recovered her breath and was quite animated. She turned to Sally. “Hello Sally.”  
     Sally gasped and all four stared at the elderly lady who smiled benignly back at them.  
     “My dears,” she continued, “Don’t look so shocked. I tell you what, why don’t you all come in, have a cup of tea and I’ll explain.”  
     “Well I don’t know...” began Sam. “Ginny has sprained her ankle and...”  
     “… don’t tell me you’re worried that an old biddy like me is going to knock you all over the head and steal your money!”  
     “No, of course not. It’s just…”  
     “Well then, come on in and I’ll have a look at Ginevra’s ankle. I’m Peggy, by the way, Peggy Deys.” She did not wait for an answer but re-crossed the road, pushed open her garden gate and entered Saxon Cottage.  
     “How strange,” said Sam. “I can understand how she might have picked up Sally’s name because we pass her cottage most days, but yours Ginny? How could she possibly know your name? We’ve only just met!  
     “Like she said, it’s the hair! Ginny rolled her eyes but didn’t elaborate.  
     “I think that if we want some answers,” said Sally, “we’d better do as she says. Come on.”  
     The four of them crossed the road and entered the small front garden of Saxon Cottage. The front door stood open so they entered and found themselves in a narrow hallway.  
     “The sitting room’s on your right. Make yourselves at home. I’m just making some tea.” Peggy’s voice came from what they supposed to be the kitchen, off to the right at the end of the hallway.  
     The sitting room was small but homely. A sofa stood before a large inglenook fireplace above which was a roughly hewn wooden mantelshelf, closely resembling the old beams that crossed the ceiling. There were armchairs on either side of the fireplace and a small table with a vase of flowers on it stood beneath a lattice window which looked out over Church Street.  
     “You know this reminds me of? Bathilda’s cottage, only a lot tidier!” As she spoke, Sally was helping Ginny down onto the sofa.  
     “You’re right, it does,” agreed Tom, sitting down in the armchair nearest the window  
     while Sam plonked herself down next to Ginny.  
     “Er…did you just say Bathilda?” Ginny was looking hard at Sally.  
     “Yeah, she’s someone my parents used to know.”  
     “It’s an unusual name.”  
     “Yeah.”  
     “That wouldn’t be Bathilda Bagshot by any chance, would it…?”  
     “Wow, this is getting seriously weird!” Sam spoke for the three of them.  
     “…from Godric’s Hollow?”  
     “How on earth…” began Tom but he was interrupted by Peggy entering the room carrying a tray on which was a teapot, cups and saucers, a small mug of milk, a bowl of sugar, teaspoons and a plate of biscuits. She put the tray down on a small occasional table in front of the sofa poured out four cups, handing three of them to her guests and taking one for herself. She placed it on the mantle shelf.  
     “Help yourselves to sugar and biscuits. I’ll just go and get something for Ginevra’s ankle.” With that, Peggy she bustled out of the room.  
     “How on earth …” began Tom again but again he got no further as Sally interrupted him this time.  
     “Peggy was the name my parents mentioned! I wonder…” But she got no further either as the lady in question reappeared with a packet of frozen peas and a dishcloth. She passed both to Ginny.  
     “Wrap the peas in the cloth and put it on your ankle. It should help reduce any swelling. You have obviously been walking on it when you should have been resting.”  
     “Thank you, Mrs. Deys.”  
     “Oh, do call me Peggy, all of you. I insist.” She sat down in the armchair nearest the door and turned to Sam.  
     “What’s your name, dear? I have, of course, seen you many times on your way to school but I don’t know your name or that of your boyfriend here.”  
     “Sam, Sam Bolton. And he’s Tom Bradley but he’s not actually my boyfriend.” Sam was blushing and Tom was suddenly preoccupied with drinking his tea.  
     “Very nice to meet you both. You are obviously friends of Sally’s.”  
     “Yes, we are but what we’re wondering is how you come to know her name. I suppose you must have heard us mentioning it.”  
     “Oh no. It’s quite simple really. Her parents asked me to keep an eye on her.”  
     “So, you are the Peggy who…you know my parents?”  
     “Oh yes, indeed I do!”  
     “Did you used to live in Letchworth?”  
     “No, I’ve always been down here in Steyning.”  
     “Ah, I get it!” Tom had the beginnings of one of his smug expressions. “You know the school and recommended it to Sally’s parents; a bit like my Dad’s friend Paul Braithwaite recommended it to my Mum and Dad. Is that what happened?”  
     “Oh no, that’s not it at all. I mean it’s true I know the school. I used to teach there many years ago; and now you mention it, I do seem to remember a boy called Paul Braithwaite. No, I was asked to keep an eye on Sally for very different reasons. It was  
because of…” Peggy suddenly stopped talking and looked at Ginny with a worried expression on her face. Ginny seemed to understand her difficulty and turned to her new friends.  
     “I don’t think Peggy can say any more.”  
      “It’s not just Sally, is it. You seem to know Ginny as well.” This came from Sam.  
     “Well, as I said, it was an educated guess but, yes, I know of her family.”  
     “So, what’s going on?”  
     “Look, can I ask you all something?” asked Ginny.  
     “Yeah, of course.” Sam looked at Sally and Tom as she spoke and they both nodded.  
     “What were you doing in Godric’s Hollow and how come you know Bathilda Bagshot?”  
     “Bathilda?” Peggy’s anxiety seemed suddenly forgotten. “They know old Batty? Well, well, well!”  
     “You…?” Sally stared in disbelief.  
     “…knew of her, yes. I’ve never actually met her.”  
     “But what we’re both wondering is how you all come to know her?” continued Ginny.  
     “Well, Tom and I have never met her,” explained Sam, “but Sally did, didn’t you, Sally?”  
     “A long time ago, when I was very young. She used to come to our house.”  
     “But what were you all doing down in Godric’s Hollow?”  
     “Helping Sally sort out a few problems,” explained Tom.  
     “Do you mind if we ask what they were? It’s none of our business, I know, but if we understand more we might be able to…well, explain a few things.” Ginny looked at Peggy who nodded her approval then turned to Sally. “Is that alright?”  
     “No, I don’t mind. It all really all started with me learning that my Mum was pregnant.”  
     Sally went on to tell Peggy and Ginny what she overheard in the hospital and how her parent’s marriage certificate had led them to Godric’s Hollow. She explained about their meeting with the vicar of St. Clementine’s church in the village, what he had said about Bathilda and how they had decided to have a look at her cottage before returning home. Tom took up the story at this point and told how he had noticed the broken window, climbed in opened the front door. He waited for shocked looks and accusations of breaking-and-entering but they were not forthcoming. Instead, Ginny asked what the cottage was like inside.  
     “I’ve never actually been there myself,” she admitted, “although I’ve heard all about it from two very close friends of mine.”  
     “The cottage was in a terrible state.” explained Sam. “There was dust and dirt everywhere. Bathilda seems to have been a writer because there were piles of old books and we noticed several that had been written by her. Tom thought she wrote Fantasy Fiction.”  
     “Why do you say that?” asked Peggy with a meaningful glance at Ginny.  
     “Because her books were all about witches and wizards and stuff like that. We found one called A History of Magic which was about a school somewhere up in Scotland called…what was it, Tom?”  
     “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And would you believe it, when the railways came along, you got there by taking a train from Platform 9 at King’s Cross!”  
     “I think it was platform 9¾, actually.” This came from Sally.  
     “Yeah, that’s right, it was.” Sam pointed a finger at Tom. “And he stole the book and he’s got it down here in Steyning!”  
     “I’ve only borrowed it, Sam; I keep telling you!” Tom looked a bit shamefaced nevertheless.  
     “Don’t forget the other one you borrowed,” added Sally. “You know, the funny address book.”  
     “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that?”  
     “Address book?” asked Peggy with another glance at Ginny.  
     “Yeah, it was upstairs in the small bedroom. It has names in it but there’s no logical order. We found Sally’s name there and parents but not on the same page and not together under one address. We really can’t make it out.”  
     “There’s a lot we can’t make out,” added Sam. “Sally, tell them about Mr. Allbright.”  
     “OK. This was to do with my grandparents. I’d always been told they’d died before I  was born but we thought we’d better check it out. We found there was a Mr. Allbright who lived locally. My surname is a little unusual in that most Allbrights are spelt with one ‘l’ and not two, like mine. When I mentioned this to him he got quite excited and said we might be related way back but he wasn’t my grandfather because his only son had had an accident and drowned when he was very young. As we left, he asked us whether we would mind placing some flowers on his son’s grave on the way back to the bus stop. We said we would, went to the church which was nearby, found the grave and then I noticed a really weird thing. The name and date of birth on the headstone was exactly the same as my Dad’s! It was really spooky!”  
     “The whole graveyard was spooky,” added Sam. “It was getting dark and we couldn’t see much but just as we were leaving there was someone over by a large sinister-looking statue on a grave which Mr. Allbright told us was called the Angel of Death.”  
     “Sorry, did you say the Angel of Death?” Ginny was looking at her intently.  
     “Yeah, it had a large scary-looking figure with wings and a skeletal hand holding a scythe. It stood over a tomb in the form of a casket which had a name on it which looked like Roddle or Riddle or something.”  
     “Where was this graveyard?”  
     “In a place called Hangleton,” said Tom. “It’s not far from here; just to the north of Brighton.”  
     “Little Hangleton,” corrected Sally. “Mr. Allbright said the church was in the old part of the village originally called Little Hangleton.”  
     “Little Hangleton,” repeated Ginny, almost under her breath.  
     “Little Hangleton,” echoed Peggy. “Well, well, well!”


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 19  
Monday 4th May

In which more is explained and they travel to the Leaky Cauldron

     For a minute or so no one in the room said anything, all preoccupied with their own thoughts. It was Sam who broke the silence.  
     “So, what’s going on?”  
     “What do you mean, dear?” asked Peggy cautiously.  
     “Well, we’ve never met before today but a lot of what we say seems to mean something to you both. We visit an obscure village in Somerset and you both know it. We mention a lady called Bathilda Bagshot and you both know her. We go to Hangleton - sorry, Little Hangelton - and from your reaction that means something to you as well: and there’s another thing. I had a nasty experience up at Chanctonbury Ring about three days ago and…”  
     “A nasty experience?” Peggy glanced at Ginny and then back to Sam “What happened, dear?”  
     “I’m not exactly sure. I can’t remember much about it at all and was lucky to be found by Sally and Tom …” Sam tailed off and looked at her two friends.  
     “She said something about an old man,” added Sally.  
     “An old man? Did you say an old man? You never mentioned that.” Ginny stood up suddenly but sat down quickly and looked down at her ankle.  
     “Yeah, we were more concerned about that at the time,” Tom pointed to her foot, “and it didn’t seem fair to start questioning you.”  
     “You really need to rest it.” Peggy bent down to retrieve the frozen peas and the tea towel that had fallen on the floor. She handed them back before looking up at the other three.  
     “She’s going to need help getting home.”  
     “Of course, but first we need to know what’s going on. I think there’s a lot you’re not telling us.” Sam sounded persistent.  
     “But we can’t,” began Ginny. “It’s…”  
     “I think we have to.” Peggy stood up suddenly and sounded quite determined. “They know too much and seem somehow to be involved. I know we shouldn’t but…well…” She walked over to a large wooden cupboard that stood on the left-hand side of the chimney place and opened the doors. She looked back at Tom.  
     “Could you look on the top shelf for me? I can’t reach it. There should be a small cardboard box up there.”  
     Tom got up from the armchair and joined Peggy at the cupboard. He reached up and his hand touched a large book. He lifted it down, looked at it and gave a gasp.  
     “What is it Tom?” asked Sam  
     “A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot…same as the one we’ve got…er…I borrowed!” He passed it over to Peggy.  
     “Ah, that’s where it was. I thought I’d lost it.” She blew the dust off the cover and placed it on the mantelshelf.  
     “Have another look, Tom, please. The box should be up there somewhere.” Tom stood on tiptoe and felt around at the back of the shelf. His hand came in contact with something and he pulled out a small cardboard box about fifteen inches long. Like the book, it was covered in dust. He passed it to Peggy who opened it and took out what looked like a tapered wooden stick. It was highly polished and had a decorated handle. Peggy  
handled it carefully - lovingly even - before passing it to Ginny.  
     “Go on, show them something.”  
     “I can’t!” Ginny looked genuinely frightened.  
     “I think we owe our friends an explanation and they won’t believe any of what we say unless you show them something.” She pointed to the stick. “It was my mother’s and I’ve kept it for sentimental reasons. I probably should have handed it in after she died but I couldn’t bear to part with it”.  
     “Why don’t you do it?”  
     “I can’t, dear. I’m a…you know.”  
     “Oh, I see…right.”  
     “So, it’ll have to be you. Go on, the vase.” Peggy pointed over towards the window. The room went very quiet and all eyes were on Ginny as she removed the tea towel cloth and peas from her ankle, stood up shakily and pointed the stick at the vase of flowers that stood on the table by the window. She said something under her breath and the vase slowly lifted itself off the table a few inches and stayed there. There were gasps from Sam, Sally and Tom as all three got to their feet and stared. Sally grasped hold of Sam’s hand as Ginny gently lowered the stick and the vase returned slowly to its original position on the table. She looked over at Peggy anxiously and then sat back down on the sofa. Nobody said anything for a few moments.  
     “That’s a…a wand, isn’t it?” This came from Sally.  
     “Yeah, it is.”  
     “I…I really don’t know what ….”  
      “Wow! I…” Tom couldn’t find any more words and Sam just stared uncomprehendingly.  
      “What you have witnessed,” explained Peggy, “is something very few Muggles have ever seen; and if by chance they did see something like this, they would have had their memory altered in such a way that they would never remember what they had seen!”  
      “You said Muggles.” Tom pointed to the mantelshelf. “They’re mentioned in that book.”  
      “That’s right, Tom. That’s what you three are; and by the way, everything mentioned in that book is true. It’s not what you call ‘fantasy fiction’ at all. You see, there are two types of people in this country, magical folk like Ginny here and Muggles, non-magical people, like you three. There are also a few like myself who were born into a magical family but are not able to work magic. We’re called Squibs. Perhaps I should really have said three types of people.”  
     “So, Squibs can’t…you couldn’t lift the vase?”  
     “I’m afraid not, Tom.” Peggy pointed to the wand. “Can you pass it to me, Ginny, please.”  
    The wand was once again pointed at the vase and, like Ginny, Peggy muttered something under her breath. Nothing happened but a few green sparks spluttered out of the end of the wand. Peggy looked at it sadly before putting it back in the cardboard box and placing it on the mantle shelf alongside ‘A History of Magic’.  
     Another silence followed as Sam, Sally and Tom looked at each other in disbelief. It was Ginny who spoke next.  
     “There’s something important we haven’t told you. In our world – the Wizarding World - there’s been a lot of trouble over the past few years and this has meant some disasters in the Muggle world as well and ...”  
     That’s it!” Sally turned excitedly to Sam and Tom. “That’s what Mum and Dad were talking about and that’s where I heard the name Peggy! They mentioned the disasters that were happening and then Dad said something like she was perfectly safe and if there was any worry Peggy would…I didn’t catch anymore.” She turned to Peggy. “They were talking about you, weren’t they?”  
     “That’s right, dear. As I mentioned earlier, they asked me to keep an eye on you.”  
     “But why did they mention being safe? Safe from what?”  
     “From these disasters. Ginny, explain a bit more and then they’ll understand.”  
     “OK, well, it’s a long story but basically there was a wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort - his actual name was Tom Riddle - who was into what we call Dark Magic. He did many terrible things and caused two wars but he’s dead now.”  
     “Riddle,” exclaimed Sam. “That was the name we saw on that Angel of Death tomb in Little Hangleton!”  
     “That’s his family.”  
     “But what about my family?” Sally turned to Peggy. “You said a moment ago you thought we were somehow involved but it’s me really, isn’t it? Sam and Tom have been helping but they are therefore only involved through me. I mean, I’m a Muggle aren’t I, same as Sam and Tom. We’re not part of this magical world of yours at all, are we?”  
     “Of course not but as Ginny just mentioned, thanks to this Riddle, things did happen in the Muggle world, what you might call collateral damage. You may remember reading about bridges collapsing houses blowing up and terrible storms. Things like this that Muggles usually explain away by talking of metal fatigue or gas leaks. Your parents, Sally, just wanted to be sure you were safe so they asked me to keep an eye on you.”  
     “But what about mine and Tom’s? They would have read about these accidents as well but didn’t seem to be as worried about them as Sally’s.” Sam looked at Tom who nodded in agreement.  
     “Well…” Peggy paused and seemed to be thinking over what to say. “Well, all I can say is they rang me up and asked if I would keep an eye on Sally. It might be because they happened to know Bathilda Bagshot. It’s very unlikely she would have said anything to Muggles about all that was happening in her world but she might have inadvertently let something slip and that worried Sally’s parents.”  
     “Riddle killed her!” put in Ginny vehemently.  
     “Killed who?” asked Sam  
     “Bathilda Bagshot. No one knows for sure but it’s almost certain he did. He tried to kill a friend of mine down there quite soon afterwards.”  
     “What, down in Godric’s Hollow?” This came from Tom.  
     “Yeah, in Bathilda’s cottage. Luckily, they managed to escape.”  
     “They?”  
     “Yeah, he had a friend with him.”  
     “Is this person you’re looking for involved with all this,” asked Sally.  
     “Yes, he is.”  
     “Who is he, Ginny? Is he someone I would know?” This came from Peggy.  
     "I think so. I’m looking for Mr. Ollivander.”  
     “What, Garrick Ollivander the Wandmaker? What on earth’s he doing down here?”  
     “That’s the problem, I don’t know-.”  
     “Er, excuse me, who’s this Mr. Ollivander?” asked Sam.  
     “Garrick Ollivander,” Peggy explained, “is a very famous maker of wands.”  
     “Did he make that one” Sally pointed to the mantle shelf where Peggy had placed it.  
     “Almost certainly; and if it was one of his and I showed it to him, he would be able to tell me what it was made of and to whom it belonged. They say he can remember the provenance of every single wand he ever made! That’s right, isn’t it Ginny?”  
     “Yeah, that’s what they say. He’s been staying with my great aunt Muriel after…” Ginny stopped speaking.  
     “After what, dear?” asked Peggy gently.  
     “…after he was tortured and imprisoned.”  
     “Tortured?” Sam looked and sounded horrified.  
     “I bet it was that Riddle bloke,” put in Tom.  
     “Yeah, it was. He was after a powerful wand and Mr. Ollivander was tortured to make him say all he knew about it.”  
     “The Elder Wand,” put in Peggy excitedly. “You’re talking about the Elder Wand, aren’t you?”  
      “That’s right. Anyway, Mr. Ollivander was rescued by my friends and taken to Shell Cottage where one of my brothers lives. After he’d recovered a bit, he went to stay with my great aunt Muriel. We are all staying there at the moment because our own house was badly damaged in the war I just mentioned. I came down a week or so after he'd arrived because I wanted to ask him about a friend of mine who spoke with him at my brother's house. None of the other members of my family were there at the time and Aunt Muriel told me he'd disappeared without saying where he was going and he hasn’t been seen since.”  
     “So why,” asked Tom, “are you looking for him down here, if you don’t know where he went?”  
     “Because of something he said. Aunt Muriel told me that before he disappeared she thought there was something worrying him. I told her he’d been through a lot and he was an old man. She agreed but still thought he had something particular on his mind. She also said he had something in his possession he was very secretive about.”  
     “Did she find out what it was,” asked Sally.  
     “No, but she told me that after he had been with her for a couple of days, she heard his voice in the middle of the night. Thinking he might be delirious, she went along to his room and looked in. He appeared to be having a vivid dream or a nightmare and she noticed he was clutching something in his hand.”  
     “Could she hear what he was saying?” This came from Tom.  
     “Some of it and that’s why I came down here. She told me it sounded as if he was going over instructions he had been given. He said something about a town called Steyning - I’d never heard of it - and something about being under a ring which made no sense at all. The next day he disappeared. Aunt Muriel was really worried for his safety so I said I’d try and find him. I was the only other one in the house at the time. Mum was up at Hogwarts and Dad had gone off to work. I found out where this Steyning was and came down. I looked around but didn’t find anything. I told someone I’d heard mention of a ring and the lady said it could refer to Chanctonbury Ring and that’s why I was up there. I now think when Mr. Ollivander mentioned being under a ring he must have been talking about something different, not about Chanctonbury at all. I mean there’s no way anyone could be underneath it!”  
     “Maybe, maybe not. It’s a strange place.” This came from Peggy who stood up and went over to the cupboard once again. She pulled out a book from one of the lower shelves, returned to her chair, sat down and opened it.  
     “Now let’s see. It says here Chanctonbury Ring is an old Bronze and Iron Age fort and in the middle of the eighteenth century young Charles Goring from the Wiston Estate planted a ring of trees which lasted until they were blown down in hurricane of 1987. It goes on to say it’s one of the most haunted places in Sussex.” Peggy paused and looked up.  
     “Describing a place as haunted is just one of the ways the wizarding world keeps Muggles away from places they don’t want them to visit. There are other ways.” She turned to Ginny. “Tell them about Hogwarts.”  
     “What do you mean?”  
     “Well, if Sam, Tom and Sally went up there, what would they see?”  
     “Oh, I see what you mean. They’d see an old ruined castle with plenty of Private Property, Keep Out signs. Then they’d suddenly remember something they desperately needed to do or some place they urgently needed to be. Hogwarts is heavily protected by magic against intruders.”  
     “So, are you saying,” asked Sally tentatively, “there’s some of your wizarding world magic up at Chanctonbury Ring?”  
     “That’s right and there is a suggestion of - how can I put it - an underneath.” Peggy turned over a few pages in the books. “It says…ah yes, here it is. It says if you walk seven times around the earthwork at midnight and in an anticlockwise direction without stopping, the Devil will come out and hand you a bowl of soup. That’s what some believe. Others think it’s a Roman legionary who appears or a Druid and even a Saxon with a white beard.” Peggy put down the book and looked up, an excited expression on her face.  
     “We could try it!”  
     “Try what?”  
     “Walk seven times round at midnight without stopping.”  
     “But that’s…” Sam began, “…that’s crazy! It’s just a story, a legend. I mean it can’t be true!”  
     “From a Muggle perspective, I agree with you, but from a magical point of view, things look different. As I’ve just said, many of these sorts of stories have been put about to keep Muggles away from certain areas and there’s no doubt that several people have been up to Chanctonbury Ring and had some sort of frightening experience. Let me see if I can…” Peggy turned over a few more pages. “…ah, yes, here we are. Listen to this. Someone called Andrew said that his brother Richard experienced something weird up there in 1979. He was camping overnight with some friends and just as he entered his tent to go to bed, some distance away in the gloom of the trees, he saw a bluish-white blob of light moving back and forth in the trees. He thought nothing of it and retired to his sleeping bag. Then the early hours of the morning, everyone was awakened by a flash and a bang and they saw a ball of light about the size of a tennis ball, hovering above the ground some thirty feet away. It was electric blue and dazzling to the eyes. Suddenly it floated towards them and then shot up into the trees with a flash and a bang. Then it was gone, leaving everyone blinking with disbelief. To this day, Andrew tells us, his brother Richard can’t explain what he and his friends saw.” Peggy put down the book and looked at Ginny.  
     “Why on earth would Garrick Ollivander want to go up there?”  
     “I’ve absolutely no idea at all but it was the only lead I had.”  
     “You say this Mr. Ollivander is a wand maker?” Sam asked Ginny.  
     “Yes, that’s right, a very famous one.”  
     “So, he has a factory somewhere?”  
     “Not a factory, a shop. It’s in …London.”  
     “So, he might be there.”  
     “He wasn’t when my brother went to have a look shortly after he disappeared.”  
     “When did he disappear?” asked Sam.  
     “Let me see. He came to Aunt Muriel’s on 15th of last month and I think he disappeared a week later.”  
     “So, that would be the 22nd?”  
     “More likely the 21st.”  
     “That’s when I was up there and saw an old man! When did your brother check on the shop?”  
     “I’m not quite sure but it was a least a week ago.”  
     "So, he might have come back since then.”  
     “I suppose so.”  
     “So maybe, before we go walking around Chanctonbury Ring at midnight we could check he hasn’t returned to his shop. And as you can’t walk very well, we could come with you?”  
     “Well…”  
     “I think it’s a good idea, Ginny,” put in Peggy.  
     “But it’s in…you know.”  
     “Diagon Alley, yes, I know.”  
     “But Peggy, they’re Muggles!”  
     “Yes, we have established that, dear, but if I remember rightly, so were your friend’s parents and they’ve have been there, haven’t they?”  
     “Yes but…”  
     "I live in London,” interrupted Sam, “but I’ve never heard of Diagon Alley. Where’s it near?”  
     “Off Charing Cross Road but I can’t…”  
     “Yes, you can!” Peggy turned to Sam, Sally and Tom. “Mr. Ollivander’s shop is in a part of London known only to magical people. Ginny’s brothers George and Fred have a shop and… oh dear!” Peggy put a hand in front of her mouth, reached over and put a hand on Ginny’s arm.  
     “I was so very sorry to hear about Fred.” Ginny said nothing but looked at the ground.  
     “OK,” Sam felt a change of subject was needed. “Let’s get ourselves on a train to London. I know how to get to Charing Cross Road.”  
     “What about Ginny,” said Sally. “She’s not walking very well.”  
     “I should be alright if I take it easy.” Ginny stood up and put some weight gingerly on her sprained ankle. She took a few steps and then sat down on the sofa again.  
     “It’s is feeling a little better,” she said unconvincingly.  
     “Doesn’t look like it,” Sam passed her the peas and the cloth which had slipped to the floor. “We could get a taxi.”  
     “That’d cost a fortune,” said Tom. “It’s going to have to be the bus to Shoreham and then the train to Victoria.”  
     “But that’ll involve quite a bit of walking.”  
     “Yeah, I know but what else can we do?”  
     Peggy had been listening closely to this conversation and now got up and went a third time to her cupboard. She reached inside and retrieved what looked like an old tea caddy. She returned to her chair, sat down and looked over at the others.  
     “I think I may be able to help you with your travel arrangements.” She passed the tin to Ginny who opened it and looked inside.  
     “Floo Powder?”  
     “That’s right.”  
     “Floo Powder?” chorused Sam, Sally and Tom.  
     "It’s one of the ways we get around.” Ginny passed the tin to Sally who was sitting next to her. Sally peered in and saw some glittering silvery powder. She passed it to Sam.  
     “What happened to good old broomsticks, then?” said Tom, taking the tin passed to him by Sam and peering into it.  
     “Oh yes, we use them too,” replied Ginny, “but not all the time.”  
     “So, what does this Floo stuff do, how does it work?”  
     “Ginny will show you.” Peggy stood up. “Move the sofa back from the fireplace.”  
     While Sam, Sally and Tom and pushed the sofa back, Peggy picked up a large vase of white flowers that stood in front of the grate and placed it to one side. She turned to Ginny.  
     “I have only used it once but my mother used it all the time although that was many years ago now.”  
     “Are you still connected, do you think?”  
     “As far as I know, I’ve never been disconnected. I’ve heard nothing from the Ministry. If I remember right, it’s the Regulators from the Floo Network Authority who do this but I don’t think they’ve ever actually come to the cottage. We can only try it and it if doesn’t work you’ll all have to take the train like you said.” Peggy turned to the others. “It’s very important to say your destination very clearly. That’s right, isn’t it Ginny?”  
     “Yes, it is. If you don’t do that, you could land up somewhere you don’t want to be. This happened to a friend of mine who found himself in a rather dangerous place and was lucky Hag…er… another friend of ours was there to help. Oh, and it’s very important to keep your hands by your sides.”  
     “Right,” said Peggy, “what Ginny’s going to do is throw some of this powder in the fireplace and then, well, you’ll see what happens. Go on Ginny.”  
     Ginny took a small handful of the silvery powder out of the tea caddy then went and a stood by the fireplace. She looked over at Peggy.  
     “I’m going to the Leakey Cauldron. I don’t know about Mr. Ollivander’s shop and George may not be in. Here we go then.” She looked at Sam, Sally and Tom. “Don’t forget to keep your hands by your sides.”  
     Ginny threw the powder in the fireplace where it immediately burst into green flames. Sam, Sally and Tom gasped and stepped back, instinctively shielding their eyes. Ginny then, against all common sense, stepped into the flames and they heard her say ‘To the Leaky Cauldron’ very clearly. Then she was gone. She had vanished. A few seconds later the flames, too, disappeared.  
     Before Sam, Sally and Tom had time to express their astonishment, Peggy stepped forward and held out the tea caddy to Tom.  
     “Why don’t you go next?”  
     “But…but… surely only magic people can do this. Isn’t it like using wands?” Tom was hoping Peggy had forgotten this fact: he did not like the look of what had happened to Ginny.  
     “No Tom, it’s not the same. A wand channels the magic in a person. It’s something through which that person can express their magic powers. With Floo Powder, the magic is in the powder, not the person. It works for Muggles perfectly well; and for Squibs too, of course.  
     “Well…”  
     “In case you’re worried about the flames, they are cold and won’t hurt you at all. If I remember rightly, it’s quite a pleasant sensation. Throw the powder into the fireplace, step into the flames and say ‘To the Leaky Cauldron” slowly and clearly.  
     “Well…OK.”  
     Tom did as Peggy said, stepped very gingerly into the flames, said the words and vanished as Ginny had before him.  
     “I’ll go next if you like,” said Sam. “I can’t trust Tom out of my sight for too long; who knows what he’ll get up to!” She took a pinch of the powder out of the tea caddy, followed the same procedure and disappeared.  
     “And then there was one!” Peggy laughed and held out the tin to Sally.  
     “Off you go and join your friends. Remember I’m here if you need me and if you’re not back by your supper time, I’ll let Mr. Rodale you’ve all been detained helping an old lady with…oh I don’t know, I’ll think of something. Oh, no, wait! How forgetful of me! I’ve let Ginny go off without it! She may not have her own and then…wait a moment, please.”  
     Peggy went to the mantelshelf, took down the cardboard box and retrieved the wand. She handed it to Sally.”  
     “Give it to Ginny when you arrive. I should tuck it down the side of your jeans where it will be safe and not stick out. Go on, off you go.”  
     Sally tucked the wand in her waistband, threw the powder in the grate and stepped very gingerly into the green flames. As Peggy had said, the sensation was not unpleasant. It was like being tickled gently all over. She said ‘To the Leaky Cauldron’ slowly and clearly and felt herself lifted roughly off her feet and into a swirling darkness. If stepping into the green flames was a pleasant sensation, this most certainly was not. She could hardly breathe and seemed to be being pulled out of shape. She was dimly aware of things rushing past her and made out what were possibly fireplaces but everything was a blur; and then suddenly, just when she felt she could stand it no longer, it was over. All sense of movement ceased, she could breathe normally and light returned.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 20  
Monday 4th May

In which they talk with Hagrid and visit Mr. Ollivander’s shop

     Sally looked up cautiously. She was standing in a fireplace very similar to the one in Saxon Cottage and for a moment thought she hadn’t gone anywhere. Then she saw Ginny, Sam and Tom standing in front of her. Sam reached out a hand and she took it and stepped carefully out of the fireplace and found that she was not in Saxon Cottage at all but in a large smoke-blackened room with a high beamed ceiling and rough stone walls upon which hung a number of dust-covered pictures. A long stained wooden table stood in the middle of the room and on it were a few pewter tankards and an oil lamp with a soot-blackened glass chimney. Over the table hung four smaller oil lamps mounted on a large iron hoop suspended from the ceiling by chains. Smaller tables and high-backed wooden chairs were placed about the room in no particular order and to the right of the fireplace a rickety wooden staircase climbed to a small half landing before continuing upwards and out so sight.  
     “Have we come to the right place?” asked Tom.  
     “Oh, yes, this is the Leaky Cauldron alright but where is everybody?” Ginny was looking around her with a puzzled expression on her face.  
     “What about this Diagon Alley you mentioned?”  
     “You get to it out the back. The front opens onto Charing Cross Road. Come on, I’ll show you.”  
     Ginny walked towards a door at the far end of the room. Beyond it was a short  
passageway leading to another door through which the sounds of traffic could dimly be heard. Ginny opened it and the sights, sounds and smells of London hit them. After what Sam, Sally and Tom had experienced, the sheer normality of it was somehow reassuring. Sally stepped out onto the pavement and looked around her. It was overcast but quite warm. A red double-decker bus went past. A lady pushing a baby in a pram approached and two teenage boys came from the opposite direction, laughing and joking. No one took any notice of her. She looked back at the door and took in the peeling black paint and grime. Looking up, she saw windows with frosted glass panes. They looked as though they had never been cleaned. There was no pub sign or any indication of what lay behind the door. Sally went back in and Ginny closed the door behind her. The noises of the busy London street were once again muted as they all walked back down the passageway. They re-entered the room with the fireplace and noticed there was space off to the left they hadn’t seen on their way to the front door. It was dimly lit but they could make out a wooden bench running along the wall behind a few tables and chairs. Ginny stopped and peered into the gloom.  
     “Wait here,” she said and went cautiously over and towards a large dark shape in a corner.  
     “There’s something or somebody there,” whispered Sam nervously.  
     “Are you OK, Ginny?” called out Tom.  
     “Yeah, I’m fine. Come on over.”  
     The three of them walked over and saw that Ginny was standing next to an extraordinarily large man. He was slumped over the table in front of him.  
     “Is he alright?” Tom peered into a very large tankard on the table. It held, he estimated, at least five pints and was empty.  
     “Yeah, I think so. He’s been drinking by the look of things.” She prodded him. The others looked fearfully at each other, thinking this was not a good idea.  
     “Hagrid…Hagrid. Wake up.”  
     “Wha…wha…” The figure stirred.  
     "Wake up Hagrid.”  
     “Wha…?”  
     “It's Ginny.”  
     “Gin…ny…who’s tha’?”  
     “Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister.”  
     At the mention of Ron, something seemed to click into place and the large man sat up and looked around. When he saw Ginny, a smile appeared on his face and he stood up and came around the table. Ginny stood her ground but the others backed away as the man towered over them. None of them had ever seen anyone quite so large.  
     “Ginny Weasley! Where’ve yer bin? Come ’ere.”  
     Ginny put her arms around the man and was enfolded in a pair of enormous arms before being almost completely hidden beneath a large shapeless stained overcoat, her head somewhere under a matted black beard. After a few moments, she reappeared.  
     “This is Rubeus Hagrid,” she explained. “He’s a very good friend of mine. He works at Hogwarts. Hagrid, meet Sally, Sam and Tom.”  
     “Pleased ter meet yer all.” Hagrid stepped forward and held out a hand the size of a dinner plate which they all solemnly shook in turn, wincing slightly at the strength of his grip.  
     “What’s going on? Where is everybody?” Ginny asked him when they were all seated around the table.  
     “Don’ rightly know Ginny. Somethin’s goin’ on. ’is body’s gone.”  
     “His body? Who’s body? What do you mean?”  
     “Vol….er…he who mus’ not be named.”  
     “He’d dead, Hagrid. You can say Voldemort now or just plain Riddle. He won’t get you.”  
     “Alrigh’. Jus’ got into the ’abit, I s’pose. Anyways, after the battle they left ’is body in a small room at Hogwarts and it’s disappeared.”

     “So, somebody’s moved it. I mean he’s dead, isn’t he! You were there, Hagrid, you saw it.”  
     “Yeah but I’m tellin’ yer that’s what ‘appened.”  
     “Have you seen Mr. Ollivander.”  
     “Nah. I ’aven’t seed’ im a’all. Why’d yer ask?”  
     “He’s disappeared.”  
     “Don’t know nothing ’bout tha’. Where’d he go?”  
     “I’m not sure but possibly down near a place called Steyning.”  
     “Never ’eard of it.”  
     “Small market town in West Sussex,” added Tom helpfully. “We found Ginny up on the Downs looking for him.”  
     “Downs?” Hagrid looked puzzled  
     “Hills on the south coast.”  
     “’ills called Downs? Daft, if yer ask me! What are yer all doing up ’ere?”  
     “We thought we should have a look in his shop to see if he had come back.”  
     “Well ’e hasn’t bin in ‘ere. Hardly ever comes in ere’ anyways, do ’ee.”  
     “That’s true.” Ginny turned to her friends. “It shouldn’t take us long to check out the shop. We’ll see you when we get back, Hagrid.”  
     “Alrigh’ but Ginny…”  
     “What?”  
     “Watch out for yerselves.”  
     “Why?”  
     “I don’ righ’ly know but summat’s going on ’ere all. Yer prob’ly won’t see many folks about. It’s deserted and Gringotts is closed.”  
     “What? Gringotts closed?”  
     “Yeah. The goblins ’ave gone. Nobody seems to know where they be. So, jus’ be careful, eh.”  
     “OK, thanks Hagrid.” She turned to the others. “Perhaps I better go on my own. You all wait here and I’ll just…”  
     “No you won’t, we’re coming with you!” Sam looked at Sally and Tom who nodded in agreement.  
     “OK.” Ginny sounded grateful and after telling Hagrid again that they wouldn’t be long, led the way back into the large room with the fireplace and out of a door to its left. It gave onto a small courtyard surrounded on three sides by a high crumbling brick wall. There was no sound from the busy Charing Cross Road which struck Sam, Sally and Tom as rather odd. A few wooden crates containing empty bottles stood under a grimy window to the right of the door and against the left-hand wall were some large wooden barrels. Ginny made her way across the courtyard towards the back wall and the others followed her.  
     “Er…are you sure this is the right place, Ginny?” Sam was looking around for another door.  
     “Yeah, it is but I need a…” As she spoke Ginny was patting the side of her jeans. She looked briefly puzzled then worried.  
     “Oh no, I was going to ask Peggy if…now we won’t be able to get in! I wonder if Hagrid’s got his umbrella…you all wait here. I won’t be a moment.”  
     “You need an umbrella?” Sam looked puzzled. “It’s not raining.”  
     “No, but we’re pretty certain Hagrid’s umbrella is actually a wand. He’s not supposed to have one but…”  
     “Is this what you’re looking for?” Sally produced the wand from her jeans waistband. “Peggy forgot to give it to you.”  
     “That just what I need - thanks.” Ginny looked and sounded very relieved. She took the wand and pointed it at the middle of the wall in front of them.  
     “Now let’s see, I think it’s two up, three across.”  
     She tapped the bricks in the centre of the wall and stood back. Nothing happened. She tried again with the same result. The others, thinking of the vase-raising in Saxon Cottage also expected something to happen and were as disappointed as she was.  
     “Are you tapping the right bricks?” asked Sam.  
     “Yeah and I’m pretty certain it’s two up, three across”  
     “Wrong sequence of numbers?” suggested Tom.  
     “Don’t think so.”  
     “Try three up, two across. I often get things back to front.” This came from Sally.  
     Ginny tried what she had suggested and then something really did happen. The bricks started sliding back, moving one on top of another so that after a short while the four of them were standing in front of a brick archway. Ginny, holding the wand out in front of her, stepped forward. The others followed and then gasped in astonishment. In front of them was a narrow cobbled street with shops on either side; but the shops were unlike anything they had ever seen outside a film set. It was pure Dickensian with bow-fronted windows, projecting upper storeys making it quite dark and shop signs overhanging the cobbled street. A more imposing-looking building, several stories high and built of a light stone stood on the right-hand side of the street about a hundred yards down from where they stood. Pillars stood on either side of an impressive entrance and continued upwards to frame the windows in the upper storeys. Although the façade looked intact there appeared to be some damage to the roof.  
     “It’s strange to see Diagon Alley so empty; it’s normally bustling with people. I wonder where everybody is.” Ginny seemed nervous and continued to hold the wand out in front of her as she walked slowly forward. The others followed, taking in the shops as they went; and what strange shops they were. On their left the window was full of what looked like large saucepans. Ginny told them they were cauldrons which students at Hogwarts needed for some of their lessons. After a short distance, they stopped in front of a very odd-looking shop on the right-hand side. It was painted in bright orange and stood out from the more traditional shops on either side. Despite its colourful appearance, it, too, looked deserted.  
     “This is the joke shop belonging to my brother George,” she explained. She paused before adding more quietly “He shared it with Fred but he died a short while ago and…”  
     “Oh no, that’s dreadful.” Sam put a hand on Ginny’s arm. “I remember Peggy was upset to hear about Fred. Was it in the war you were talking about?”  
     “Yeah.”  
     Without saying anything further, Ginny continued on down the street and the others followed. They passed more shops, one selling robes and another opposite advertising different sorts of ice creams. A little further on their right stood the impressive building they had noticed earlier. Ginny told them it was the wizarding bank called Gringott’s. It was opposite a narrow dark lane. Tom, went over and peered down it before Ginny grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back.  
     “Don’t,” she said. “That’s Knockturn Alley and it’s not a good idea to go down there. Some of the shops down there sell stuff to do with what we call Dark Magic.”  
     “Stuff your Tom Riddle was involved with?”  
     “Yeah, that’s right. Here we are.” Ginny had stopped in front of a double-fronted two storey shop with pronounced bow windows. It was in a poor condition with peeling paint of a nondescript colour. Sally peered through one of the dirty panes of glass on the left-hand side of the door and saw a wand resting on a dusty faded velvet cushion below an ornate oil lamp. She looked on the right-hand side and saw another wand displayed in exactly the same way. ‘Ollivanders’ was written in big gilt letters above each of these bow windows and above the door in smaller writing ‘Makers of fine wands since 382 BC’. Ginny had gone up to the door and peered through the panes of glass that made up the top half. She knocked and stood back. When no one answered, she knocked again but with the same result.  
     “It reminds me of when we were at Bathilda Bagshot’s cottage,” said Sam. “We knew there was no one in because the vicar had told us she had died but we knocked all the same and then Tom disappeared round the side and climbed through a window!”  
     “Well…” Tom was looking up at the two bow windows that made up the upper storey.  
     “Even if I could climb up I don’t think I’d be able to get in. I’ll check out the back.”  
     “Why did I even mention it,” groaned Sam watching as Tom walked a little further up the street and disappeared down a narrow alleyway between Mr. Ollivander’s shop and the one next to it. After a few minutes his face appeared on the other side of the door and they heard the sound of bolts being slid back and a key turned in the lock. The door opened and Tom’s face appeared.  
     “I don’t think your Mr. Ollivander is here,” he said to Ginny, “Someone has forced the back door and it looks as if the shop has been burgled. Come on in.” Tom stood back and Ginny, Sam and Sally stepped inside. They found themselves in a  
dark and dusty room. To their left and towards the back stood an old wooden counter behind which stood a spindly chair. Looking around them, they took in the shelves that reached as high as the ceiling and would have held the narrow cardboard boxes that littered the floor. Ginny bent down and picked one up. It was empty. She picked up another and then another but they were empty, too. The others joined in picking up the boxes in the hope of finding something inside them but they were all empty.  
     “Someone’s stolen all his wands!” Ginny turned to the others with a look of despair on her face. “Who would do such a thing?”  
     The others could think of no suitable reply but Sally suggested they look upstairs. They moved behind the counter and into a sort of storeroom which also had shelves reaching up to the ceiling. The boxes had all been pulled off the shelves and were empty. They climbed some rickety stairs and peered into the two bow-fronted rooms that looked out over Diagon Alley. Dust was everywhere. The rooms contained yet more boxes which were not only empty but trampled on and scattered. At the back was a small bedroom next to an equally small bathroom. Even here there were boxes to be found, on window ledges and under the bed. They too were empty. There was no sign of Mr. Ollivander. They left the shop, Tom doing his best to secure the back door, and headed back towards the Leakey Cauldron. They passed Ginny’s brother George’s joke shop where Ginny paused and looked up at the windows on the first floor. Like Mr. Ollivander’s shop, they were bowed but in a much better condition. The frames looked as if they had been newly painted in bright orange paint. They walked on and soon reached the arch and stepped through into the small courtyard at the back of the Leakey Cauldron where Ginny turned, muttered some words and waved her wand. The arch closed up, brick by brick, leaving a solid wall. They entered the pub and found Hagrid had moved from his window seat and was talking to someone behind the bar. When he saw them, he waved a huge hand and beckoned then over. A man of indeterminate age stood behind the bar. When he saw Ginny, his face lit up.  
     “Miss Weasley! So good to see you safe and well. Are you alright?”  
     “Yes thank you, Tom. These are my friends Sam, Sally and, like you, another Tom. They’ve been really helpful. I hope you don’t mind me bringing them here.”  
     “Of course not, young lady. Why should I?”  
     “Well actually they’re Muggles.”  
     “Muggles, eh? Well, they’re not the first. Would anyone like a drink?”  
     “That’s very kind of you, Tom but my friends here need to get home. Do you happen to have any Floo powder, by any chance?”  
     “Any amount of it, Miss Weasley. It’s in a tin on the mantle shelf over the fireplace. Help yourselves.”  
     “Thanks.” Ginny turned to her Sam, Sally and Tom. “If you’re all OK to get back to Peggy’s by yourselves, I think I’ll see if my brother George is in. When we were standing outside his shop, I thought I saw a curtain twitch upstairs. Just remember to say your destination very clearly and keep your hands to your sides.  
     “We’ll be fine, Ginny,” said Tom. “I just hope we don’t land up somewhere else!”  
     “Don’t say things like that, Tom.” This came from a worried-sounding Sam.  
     “Well if you’re at all maybe…Hagrid, would you…?”  
     “Ar’ well yer see, Ginny, I’m not a great user of Floo Powder. The fireplaces are a bit small for me an’ I once got stuck. I’m not a great user of broomsticks either. It’s me size, yer see.”  
     “We’ll be fine,” reiterated Tom. He turned to Ginny  
     “Will we see you again?”  
     “I hope so. I’ll keep in touch.” Ginny turned to the landlord. “Good to see you, Tom. Look after him.” She pointed to Hagrid who was walking over towards the fireplace with Sam, Sally and Tom.  
     “I’ll do that, Miss Weasley.” Tom the landlord looked over Ginny’s shoulder and called out.  
     “If you’re staying, Hagrid. How about another drink?”  
     “Now yer talkin’, Tom. Don’ mind if ar’ do!”


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 21  
Wednesday 6th May 

In which Sam, Sally and Tom receive a message from Ginny

     Two days had passed since Sam, Sally and Tom’s visit to the Leaky Cauldron and their safe arrival back at Saxon Cottage with the aid of Floo Powder. They were working in the junior library and as it was after nine o’clock, they had the place to themselves. All three were having great difficulty getting down to work as none of them could get what had happened out of their heads. Were it not for the fact that the three of them had experienced the same thing they might have felt, individually, they had been dreaming. Tom had suggested they had been dreaming and managed somehow to get into each other’s dreams. Sam had told him to stop being stupid.  
    “How’s the History going?” she asked.  
     “Not too well. Tudor Revolution in Government - tough one. What about you?”  
     “Electricity practical tomorrow.”  
     “That’s the current topic, is it?”  
     “Very funny.”  
     “What’s that funny scratching noise?” This came from Sally who looked up from the artwork she had spread out on the large table in the centre of the library.  
     “I don’t hear anything,” Tom looked around him.  
     “No, Sally’s right. There it is again.” Sam got up and went over to one of the lattice windows that looked out over Church Street. She peered into the gathering darkness.  
     “Can’t see anything.”  
     “Probably the wind,” suggested Tom. “It was getting up when we came over.”  
     “Wait a minute…” Sam was now looking out of another window. “There’s a bird out there and it’s flapping against the window. It’ll hurt itself.”  
     Tom stood up and walked over to where she was standing. He peered out.  
     “You’re right. It’s probably attracted by the light - or is that moths? I’ll try opening the window to scare it off. There we go...hey, it’s flown in and it’s not a bird, Sam, it’s an owl!”  
     “An owl is a bird, Tom!  
     Sally had got up and joined her friends. The owl, for it was indeed an owl, had perched on the back of one of the library chairs.”  
     “It’s got something tied to its leg,” she said excitedly.  
     “It’s probably a tag,” said Tom. “Homing pigeons are often tagged but I’ve never heard of a homing owl!” He moved tentatively towards it, expecting it to fly off, but the owl remained perched on the back of the chair. Sam came cautiously up behind him.  
     “It looks like a note of some sort. See if you can get hold of it.”  
     “What, and get my nose bitten off? You’re joking!”  
     “Don’t be such a wuss! Here, let me do it.”  
     She moved in front of Tom and stretched out a hand. Still the owl still didn’t move and when she was almost touching it, held out the leg which had the note attached to it. Sam carefully undid the ribbon that held it in place, removed the note and stepped back. The owl replaced its foot on the back of the chair and stared at them with its big amber eyes. It wasn’t young and looked rather worn out.  
     “Will you look at that!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s tame! What’s the note say, Sam?”  
     “You won’t believe this! It’s from Ginny!”  
     “A letter? For us? From Ginny?”  
     “Hey Sally, we’ve got a parrot in the room as well as an owl!”  
     “Who’s a pretty boy then? Seriously, I’ve heard of pigeon post but....”  
     “Shut up about pigeons and parrots, Tom, and listen!” Sam unfolded the note and read out what it said:

 _Dear Sam, Sally and Tom,_  
    _I want to thank you again for helping me. After you left, I went back to my brother George’s shop and he was there. Ron, another of my brothers, is staying with him so that was nice. They wanted to hear all about you. We still haven’t managed to find Mr._  
    _Ollivander. I went up to his shop again just to check but he hadn’t returned. George_ _and Ron managed to repair the back door so it’s now more secure. I am now back in my Aunt Muriel’s cottage and have been telling my dad all about what’s been                  happening. He was a bit cross that I had gone off by myself but I think he’s OK about it now. He says he will come down to Steyning and have a look around._  
    _Thanks again for helping me. My ankle is a lot better now._  
     H _ope to see you all again sometime soon._

_Love from Ginny_

_P.S. If you want to send a reply, tie it to the leg of this owl. His name is Pigwidgeon and_ _he belongs to my brother Ron. He won’t bite, by the way – the owl that is!_

     Sam looked up at her friends.  
     “Let’s send a reply!”  
     “Do you think it’ll get to her?” This came from Tom.  
     “Well, the owl found his way down here so there’s no reason to suppose it can’t find its way back. It’s nearly ten o’clock and the duty staff will be here soon to lock up.”  
     “OK. The last thing we want is to be caught tying a note to the leg of an owl called Pigwidgeon and sending it to a girl who can wave a wand and lift vases up!”  
     Sally giggled.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 22  
Saturday 9th May

In which Sam and Tom meet with Mr. Weasley

     It had started to rain when Sam and Tom left the dining room after lunch the following Saturday and headed for the library opposite the museum. Sally was not with them as she had some art work to finish and was down at the Senior school.  
     “Have you got your card, Mr. Bradley?”  
     The librarian had taken the four books Tom wanted to return and was looking at him with a ‘you’ve forgotten it, haven’t you’ look on her face.  
     “Er, yeah, somewhere. Hang on.” Tom rummaged in his coat pockets and eventually found it. He handed it to the librarian.  
     “There’s a fine of £1-20 owing on the book about St. Cuthman, I’m afraid,” she said. “For heaven’s sake, Tom!” Sam sounded exasperated. “I reminded you about that a week ago!”  
     “Yeah, I know, I forgot.” Tom rummaged in his pocket again and produced some coins which he counted out and handed over to the librarian.  
     “Thank you.”  
     They headed for the door and looked out. It was now raining quite hard. They were about to make a dash for Bennett’s when Sam grabbed Tom’s arm and pointed towards the church just across the road from the library.  
     “I’ve just seen a ginger-haired man go through the lych-gate!”  
     “Wow, Sam, must be a first!”  
     “Stop being silly. Ginny had red hair.”  
     “So do several thousands of other people in the country!”  
     “I know that but didn’t she say something about her dad coming down to have a look around?”  
     “Yeah, that’s true.”  
     “So, let’s go and have a look.”  
     “OK but we’ll get soaked.”  
     “No more soaked than if we made a dash for Bennett’s. It’s about the same distance.”  
     “Yeah, but if it’s not Ginny’s Dad then we’ve doubled the distance and we’ll get doubly soaked, won’t we!”  
     “I’m not even going to bother replying to that! Come on.”  
     They ran across the road and paused in the lych-gate, out of the rain. To their right there was a narrow path which ran parallel to the flint wall that separated the graveyard from the road. There was no sign of a ginger-haired man. They ran down the path and Sam pushed open the heavy wooden door that led into a porch. They entered and walked towards another large oak door which led into the church proper. Tom pushed it open and peered in.  
     “Can’t see anyone.”  
     “Over there to your left, behind the organ keyboard.”  
     Tom looked over to where Sam was pointing and saw someone with his back to them, looking up at one of the stained-glass windows. They walked down the central aisle and stopped by the organ keyboard. The man must have heard their footsteps because he turned around as they approached him. He was, they guessed, around forty-five years old with receding ginger hair and a care-worn expression. He was wearing a rumpled dark blue suit with a highly decorated waistcoat and scuffed brown shoes. He gave the appearance of a man with much on his mind.  
     “Er, excuse me,” began Sam. “We were wondering if…”  
     “Yes?”  
     “We’re sorry to bother you but we’re wondering if by any chance you are Mr. Weasley.”  
     “As a matter of fact I am. Ah, yes! Let me guess; you must be either Sally Allbright or Sam Bolton.”  
     “Sam Bolton. And he’s Tom Bradley.”  
     “Very pleased to meet you both” Mr. Weasley shook their hands vigorously before looking around him.  
     “Is your friend Sally here?”  
     “She’s down at the school,” replied Tom.  
     “Well, a big thank you to you all. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found my daughter Ginny when you did: naughty girl, going off like that without letting anyone know!”  
     “We just happened to be up at Chanctonbury Ring and Sam and Sally found her looking a bit lost and with a sprained ankle.”  
     “Well, thank you again. Ginny says you all met with someone called Peggy Deys who was also very helpful.”  
     “Yes, we did and she was.” Sam paused before continuing. “Mr. Weasley, can we ask you something?”  
     “Of course, fire away.” Mr. Weasley sat down in the nearest pew and Sam and Tom joined him, one on each side.  
     “We still don’t understand what this is all about.”  
     “What do you mean?”  
     “Well, Ginny and Peggy told us something about the wizarding world.”  
     “Er…right…” Mr. Weasley was now looking a bit uneasy.  
     “This was after we told them we had been to a place called Godric’s Hollow and knew something about Bathilda Bagshot because she used to visit Sally’s family when she was young so…” Sam tailed off and looked at Mr. Weasley whose reply, when it came, was more forthright than she expected from his expression.  
     “Right, as I understand it from what Ginny has told me, she and this Peggy felt that as you already knew quite a bit, some explanation was required.”  
     “That’s right. They said they really shouldn’t have told us things but Ginny had a sprained ankle and couldn’t walk very well and Peggy said that if we were going help her we should be told things.”  
     “I understand but you see if you want further information from me, as I suspect you do, this would create particular difficulties for me because…well… I work for the ministry.”  
     “Really?” Tom sounded impressed. “Which Department? Education? Health? Home Office?”  
     “None of those, Tom. I’m not talking about your government at all, I’m talking about the Ministry of Magic which is also based in London. I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office  
     “The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.” repeated Sam. “What does that mean?”  
     “Basically, it means keeping things that have been bewitched away from Muggles. Let me give you an example. Three years ago, a complete idiot called Willy Widdershins went in for a bit of what we call Muggle baiting. He bewitched a couple of their toilets. When Muggles went to flush them, instead of everything going down, everything…er…came back out and the toilet then exploded.”  
     “Wicked!” Tom was grinning broadly. Sam glared at him.  
     “The trouble with this sort of situation,” continued Mr. Weasley “is that Muggles wouldn’t be able to explain how this happened and this might lead to difficult questions being asked and possible exposure of the magical world. My department acts to see this doesn’t happen. We have to undo the bewitching and modify the minds of any Muggles involved. Now I know you three are not involved in this sort of nonsense at all but you can see my difficulty. The ministry goes to great lengths to make sure Muggles do not get involved with, or experience, the magical world at all.”  
     “Did you say just now you can alter people’s minds?”  
     “Yes we can, Sam, but usually only as a last resort.”  
     “So, because we Muggles now know something of the magical world, we are a sort of security risk.”  
     “You could put it like that, yes.”  
     “So, you might have to modify our memories.”  
     “I’m hope that won’t be necessary, Sam. However, I must ask you both to promise solemnly that you will say nothing of what you have experienced to anyone else.”  
     “You mean we shouldn’t say anything to any other Muggles.”  
     “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Do you promise?”  
     “Yes we do, don’t we Tom?”  
     “Of course, and I’m sure Sally will be fine with that as well.”  
     “Thank you. By the way, when you were talking with Ginny and this Peggy, did they mention somebody called Voldemort?”  
     “Yes, they did. He’s the same person as Tom Riddle, isn’t he?”  
     “That’s right.”  
     “We know he did terrible things. Ginny said a friend of hers has killed him. Is that true?  
     “Yes.”  
     “When was he killed?” asked Tom.  
     “May the second.”  
     “This year?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “But that’s…” Tom did a rapid calculation “…only a couple of days ago!”  
     “That’s right, and since then some strange things have been happening and we don’t know why.”  
     “You mean like Voldemort’s body disappearing and then Mr. Ollivander?”  
     “My goodness!” Mr. Weasley looked surprised. “I must say, you both certainly seem well informed.”  
     “What we find a bit puzzling,” continued Sam, “is how we three seem to be mixed up in all this. I know it’s more to do with Sally rather than Tom and myself but it’s still a bit strange.”  
     “From what I hear, it all sounds like a bit of a coincidence. Your friend Sally’s parents were married in Godric’s Hollow, I believe. Now, I will admit to you that the village is what we call a magical community - one of the first, actually - but don’t forget it’s also a normal Muggle village. Sally’s parents probably got to know Bathilda at some point and she became a family friend. I believe Sally said she knew her when she was very young but, again, there’s nothing strange about that. Bathilda was part of the magical world but magical people are…well … people just like you. Many mix freely with Muggles and lasting friendships are made. I mean, look at me talking to you two. Would anyone coming in the church think there was anything different about me?”  
     “I see what you mean…Tom?”  
     “Er, yes.” Tom did not sound as convinced as Sam. He remembered the Reverend Swain mentioning all the other weddings that had taken place which Bathilda Bagshot had arranged. He decided not to mention this or the fact there _was_ actually something different about Mr. Weasley, something but he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was the way he was dressed. It was almost as if he had made too much of an effort to look like…well…a Muggle.  
    “There you are then,” continued Mr. Weasley. “Now, I really should be on my way.”  
     The three of them made their way towards the church door and into the porch. Sam was about to open the outer door when Mr. Weasley suddenly stopped and pointed.  
     “Hello, is that an old gravestone over there propped up against the wall?”  
     “It looks like a gravestone,” explained Tom, “but it may be a grave slab and it’s supposed to belong to a Saxon king called Ethelwulf. He was Alfred the Great’s father and he died in Steyning in the middle of the ninth century. His body may have been moved to Winchester at some point after his death.”  
     “Really?” Mr. Weasley sounded genuinely interested. “What about that other one over there?” He was pointing to another stone slab to the left of the outer door and half hidden in shadow.  
     “Nobody knows anything about that one. Some think it might belong to a local saint called Cuthman. It was found in the 1930s being used a step.”  
     “How do you know all this?” Sam sounded impressed.  
     “You’ve got a short memory, Sam. You seem to have forgotten about the book I’ve just returned to the library!”  
     “The one with the fine?”  
     “That’s right. It was mentioned in there.”  
     Mr. Weasley walked over to the second grave slab and had a closer look.  
     “It doesn’t look very Christian to me,” he said. “It’s got … well, well, well … it’s got a snake design on it and what are these marks? Runes? They look like Runes to me. I was never very good at them at Hogwarts…I must take a photograph. Now where ..."      He felt in one of the pockets of his jacket and produced a small camera. He pointed it at the slab but from the way he was handling it, both Tom and Sam realised he was not very proficient.  
     “Er, can I help?” asked Sam.  
     “I’d be very grateful. I’m not very good at using these things.”  
     Sam took several close-ups of the slab from different angles and then handed the camera back to Mr. Weasley who thanked her and replaced it back in his jacket pocket.  
     “I’ll be off now,” he said. “Very nice to meet you both and thanks again to the three of you for helping Ginny; oh, and Mr. Shacklebolt says thank you, too.”  
     “Mr. Shacklebolt?” Sam and Tom both spoke at once.  
     “That’s right. Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic.”


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 23  
Sunday 10th to Monday 11th May

In which Sam, Sally and Tom receive a second letter

    The next day, Sunday, a second letter arrived by owl. Sam, Sally and Tom were, as usual, in the Junior Library on the Church Street site. All three were finishing work that needed to be handed in on Monday. Despite the fact that it was after nine o’clock and formal homework for the junior years was over, they were not alone. Several other boarders were following the time-honoured practice of leaving homework to the last minute. Everyone raised their heads when they heard a scratching noise at the window. Sam, Sally and Tom looked at each other, the same thought passing through their minds: if they opened the window, Pigwidgeon would fly in and there would be an awful lot of explaining to do.  
     “Er, it sounds like a bird has just flown into the window. I’ll just go and see if it’s alright.” Sam got up quickly before anyone else moved. She went out the library door, returning some minutes later and resuming her seat. Everyone looked at her expectantly and Sam said it must have been fine as it had flown away.  
     “It’s another note from Ginny,” she whispered to Sally and Tom after she had sat down again. “She says she’s coming down to Saxon Cottage tomorrow and could we meet her there after school.  
     “That should be OK.” Tom looked at Sally who nodded. “Is she coming on her own?”  
     “No, she says she’s bringing someone with her.”  
     “Her Mum? Dad?”  
     “No.”  
     “One of her brothers?  
     “No, she’s bringing a friend…a girl.”

***

    The following day Sam, Sally and Tom hurried back from school, put their things in their rooms and signed out with Mr. Rodale in the dining room.  
     “Off to Saxon Cottage again?” he asked as he wrote their names in the log book. “You seem to have made quite a hit with Mrs. Deys.”  
     “Er…yes, Sir. We’ve been helping her with…things,” said Tom.  
     “Well that’s good to hear; very public-spirited of you all. Of you go and don’t be late for supper.”  
     The three of them walked up School Lane and crossed the road. Sally pushed open the garden gate and knocked on the front door. Peggy answered it and ushered them inside.  
     “Go on in to the sitting room, make yourselves at home while I go and make us all some tea.”  
     Ginny was sitting on the sofa and stood up when they entered. She gave them all a hug and then introduced the girl who had been sitting next to her.  
     “This is my friend Hermione, Hermione Granger. Hermione, these are the three friends I was telling you about, Sam, Sally and Tom.  
     “Hallows…. sorry… I mean hello. Nice to meet you.” Hermione came forward and shook them all by the hand and the three of them took in a girl who appeared a few years older than they were with thick brown hair and an intelligent but tired-looking face.  
     “Hermione goes to Hogwarts like I do,” explained Ginny, “but both her parents are Muggles like you all are.”  
     “How is it that someone with Muggle parents can work magic?” asked Tom.  
     “No one really knows,” replied Hermione. “Magical ability is inherited from parents or through them from grandparents or more distant relations. That must have been the case with me.”  
     “So, you can do all the things that Ginny can do, like lifting vases.” Sally was remembering what they witnessed in this room. It seemed an age ago now.  
     “Yes, I can. As far as magical ability is concerned, there’s no difference.”  
     “Do your parents know about this…this alternative world?” asked Sam.  
     “They did, yes.”  
     “Did?”  
     “I had to protect them when…” Hermione paused and looked at Ginny questioningly.  
     “It’s alright, they know quite a lot already.”  
     “Really?”  
     “Yeah, and it’s OK. My dad met Sam and Tom last Saturday.”  
     “Do they know about Riddle?”  
     “Yeah, they do.”  
     “OK.” Hermione turned back to Sam, Sally and Tom. “When Riddle - he called himself Voldemort then - came back after 1995, he’d nearly been killed by trying to murder a friend of ours when he was a baby - we were all in danger, so I modified my parents’ memories and they went off to Australia and forgot they had a daughter.”  
     “Oh no! That must have been really hard for you,” This came from Sam.  
     “One of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”  
     “And she’s done plenty of those!” put in Ginny but there wasn’t time to elaborate or for Sam, Tom and Sally to ask about the near-death experience of Voldemort because the door opened and Peggy came in with a tray on which were cups and saucers, a milk jug, a sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits. While she placed the tray on a small table and poured out the tea, Ginny turned to Sam and Tom.  
     “Dad says he saw an interesting grave stone in the church porch.”  
     “Not a grave stone, a grave slab,” explained Tom patiently. “Sam took some photographs for him.”  
     “And that’s the main reason I’m here.” Hermione turned and picked up a bag from the sofa. She opened it and pulled out some photographs which she passed to Sam.  
     “Are these the ones?”  
     “Yeah, they are.” Sam passed them over to Sally and Tom who both had a good look.  
     “Why is Mr. Weasley so interested?” she asked.  
     “It’s the strange writing that caught his eye,” continued Hermione. “It’s runic and he wants me to translate it. I’ll really need to go down to the church to have a proper look. The photos are too small for me to make much out.”  
     “Hermione’s very good at Runes,” explained Ginny. “It’s one of the subjects we can study at Hogwarts,” she added, by way of explanation.  
     “What about the snake design?” asked Sam. “He seemed interested in that as well.”  
     “The snake is the emblem of one of our four houses at Hogwarts. It’s named after one of the four founders of the school, Salazar Slytherin. This Riddle we’ve been talking about thought of himself as the heir of Slytherin so the snake design was obviously associated with him, too.”  
     “But,” said Tom, “the snake is also an emblem used throughout our history - Muggle history. In fact, it’s one of the oldest emblems known to man so there may be nothing special about it being on this grave slab.”  
     “I agree. There’ll probably be nothing there of any interest at all but Steyning is close to Chanctonbury Ring and as you all know that’s where Ginny thought Mr. Ollivander might have gone.”  
     “Hey, I’ve just remembered something!” Tom stood up excitedly, nearly spilling his tea all over Sally. “There was a snake design on some bits of stone up there!”  
     “Really?” Hermione looked at Ginny. “Your dad never mentioned that, did he?”  
     “No, he didn’t. Where were they, Tom?”  
     “Down in the excavation I was looking at just before I met you, a couple of Saturdays ago.”  
     “That’s very interesting, and brings me to the other reason I have come down here to meet you.” Hermione had turned to look intently at Sam, Sally and Tom.  
     “What’s that?”  
     “To ask you all for your help, Sam.”  
     “What do you want us to do?”  
     “We were wondering if you could all do a bit of research into the history of Steyning generally - see what you can find out. Would that be OK?  
     “Sounds fun. What should we look out for?”  
     “Oh, anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary over the past thousand years or so.”


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 24  
Tuesday 12th May

In which Arthur Weasley talks with Kingsley Shacklebolt

     “Come in, sit down, make yourself comfortable.”  
     “Thank you Minister.”  
     “Arthur, how many times have I told you ... it’s Kingsley! I’m not standing on ceremony; we’ve been through too much together. Mr. Shacklebolt will do in more formal circumstances if it makes you feel any better.”  
     “Right, thanks…er...Kingsley”  
     Arthur Weasley had come to the Ministry of Magic in London on the Wednesday after his visit to Steyning on the previous Sunday and was now sitting in one of the two chairs in front of an ornate black desk. The room itself was circular with ebony panelling and a large window behind which looked out over what was known as the Atrium, a large space on the eighth level.  
     “How’s Molly?”  
     “Not too bad considering. She misses Fred terribly - we all do, of course. She has her weepy moments but...well...many others lost loved ones too, didn’t they - not just our family.”  
     “They did, Arthur, they did, but you also had your home very badly damaged by those Death Eaters at the beginning of August last year. If it wasn’t for this current trouble, we’d have you all back there by now.”  
     “That’s kind of you to say so but we’re alright. For the moment, we’re staying with Molly’s aunt Muriel.  
     “Good. Now about these Muggles who helped your daughter Ginny. What were their names again?  
     “Sam Bolton, Sally Allbright and Tom Bradley. I met them again a few days ago, in the church in Steyning.”  
     “Steyning?”  
     “Small market town in one of those Muggle counties called West Sussex. They all go to Steyning Grammar School. Kingsley, I need to talk to you about them.”  
     “I know what you’re thinking, Arthur, and I think you acted very properly in all this.”  
     “You do?”  
    “Most certainly. You’re worried that you allowed Muggles to be privy to information we would normally keep from them but after you had told me what they had found out whilst in Godric’s Hollow and what Ginny and this lady Peggy Deys felt they needed to know, I don’t see you had much choice. Can we trust them do you think?”  
     “Yes, I’m sure we can. They gave me their word and I believe them.”  
     “Good. You know what to do if there’s a problem."  
     “Of course.”  
     “Now, what was that other matter you mentioned?”  
     “This.” Arthur Weasley felt in one of his pockets and produced some photographs which he passed to Kingsley who peered at them.”  
     “Taken in the porch of St. Andrew’s Church in Steyning,” he added.  
     “Looks like a gravestone.”  
     “That’s what I thought but Tom Bradley told me it was a grave slab, presumably placed horizontally over a burial. It’s the design that caught my eye.”  
     “Snakes and what look like runes. How are your runes, Arthur?”  
     “Not good, I’m afraid. I scored so badly in my OWLs at Hogwarts so I wasn’t allowed to continue to NEWT level.”  
     “I’ll admit to you I’m no good at them either!”  
     “Despite that you haven’t done badly…Minister of Magic.”  
     “That’s true but probably more down to recent events than anything else. Do we know anyone good at runes?”  
     “Professor Babbling taught the subject at Hogwarts but I don’t think she’s there anymore. There’s Harry and Ron’s friend Hermione Granger of course - clever girl that one.”  
     “That’s right and she played no small part in Riddle’s defeat!

     “Very true. I’ve already taken the liberty of showing her the photographs and she mentioned going down to Steyning to see things for herself!”  
     “That sounds a good idea. How’s Harry, by the way?”  
     “No idea. No one’s seen him recently. Molly thinks he’s gone off to his godfather’s house in Grimmauld Place.”  
     “That poor boy has been through so much. I sincerely hope he’s alright.” Kingsley Shacklebolt stood up. “Now I must go, Arthur. I’ve got a meeting about the Gringott’s crisis. Let me know what Hermione Granger makes of those runes. It’s probably nothing to worry about but there is this business of Riddle’s body disappearing and, well, any sort of snake design tends to make me nervous at the moment!”  
     “I know what you mean, er…Kingsley!”


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 25  
Saturday 16th May

In which Sam, Sally and Tom meet with Ginny and Hermione again

    “Tell us what you’ve found out.”  
     It was Saturday afternoon and Sam, Sally and Tom were once more sitting in the front room of Saxon Cottage, drinking tea. Ginny and her friend Hermione had arrived with the aid of Floo Powder and although it made the three of them jump when the two girls appeared one after the other in Peggy’s fireplace, they were becoming used to the comings and goings of magical people.  
     “OK,” said Tom in reply to Hermione’s request. “We went to the Museum and they were very helpful. Mr. Rennard, the Curator, said Steyning is a very old place and although there’s no proof it existed before Roman times, there was almost certainly a Celtic settlement here going back to something like 500 BC. It’s mentioned in the Domesday Book where it was called ‘Staenig’ which could mean something to do with stones - there are lots of flints in the chalk on the Downs. Some people think it’s named after one particular standing stone which is the one with the runes in the church porch.  
     “You said that was a grave slab.” This came from Ginny looked puzzled.  
     “That’s what most people think,” Tom continued, “but some argue it’s a standing stone because there’s some discolouring at one end due to it being stuck in the earth in an upright position, a bit like those at Stonehenge. As I’ve already said, it may also be something to do with St. Cuthman.  
     “Who’s St. Cuthman?” asked Hermione.  
     “OK, we’re talking about Saxon times here so it’s before 1066.” Tom was looking down at the papers he had in his hand. “He was born around 681AD, possibly in Chidham which is near Bosham, about 25 miles west of here. He may have spent his youth as a shepherd on the moors around there. Apparently, there is an old stone up in the heather somewhere, marking the spot where he where he used to sit. He often drew a circle round his sheep and they would never stray outside it. When his father died, Cuthman worked hard to keep him and his mum going but when she became sick, they became destitute. At some point, he set off east, wheeling his mother in a wheelbarrow. It broke down in Steyning and Cuthman took this as a sign from God to settle there. He built a wooden church which may have been on the site of the present Norman one, just down the road from here.”  
     “Tell them about the witch, Tom,” put in Sally.  
     “OK. There’s a story this Cuthman had a run-in with a local witch who objected to his ‘divine works’ as she called them. She stole his oxen which were grazing on her land but he got his own back by harnessing her two sons to the plough!”  
     “Mmm.” Hermione glanced at Ginny before looking back at Tom.  
     “You said Saxon times but can you be a bit more specific? We don’t really do Muggle history at Hogwarts. How long ago are we actually talking with this St. Cuthman?”  
     “If he was born in 681AD, that’s around a couple of hundred years after the Saxons came to Britain and 385 years before William the Conqueror and the Norman Conquest in October 1066.  
     “I’ve heard about that and thanks, that’s interesting. Have you managed to find out anything else? What about this Chanctonbury Ring where you met Ginny?”  
     “It’s an old Iron Age hill fort up on the South Downs to the west of Steyning. The Iron Age in Britain begins around 800 BC. and they think Chanctonbury dates from the 5th or 6th centuries BC. They found some Bronze Age pottery up there so it may be older. There are lots of stories and legends associated with it including the one that says if you walk or run seven times around it on a dark or moonless night at midnight, the Devil will appear, or a Roman soldier, or a Saxon with a long grey beard - take your pick. There are accounts of people seeing all sorts of strange things up there like fairies and UFOs. Some have heard the hoof beats of a phantom horse and the ghost of a Druid searching for lost Saxon treasure. People visiting the ring have reported feeling uncomfortable and some attempting to camp up there overnight have been really frightened and run away! Peggy told us about one such event, didn’t you Peggy?”  
     “That’s right, dear, when we first met.”  
     “Hermione, I’m wondering what all this is about.” This was becoming something of a refrain for Sam.  
     “I really don’t know, but this is probably a good time to tell you what I’ve found out.”  
     “About Steyning?”  
     “Yeah. After we last met, Ginny and I went to the church to have a close look at the grave slab or whatever it is. There’s definitely a snake pattern on it. It’s a bit worn away in places because the slab is very old. The runes were also difficult to read for the same reason but I’ve managed to translate some of them.”  
     “What do they say?”  
     “Something like: ‘ _Here lies Ophiuchus of pure blood and noble cause who was’_.... something, something - difficult to read here - then _‘untimely’_ something - probably ‘ _death’_... then ‘ _cursed be_ ’...looks like ‘ _he and all his kind’_... the rest is so worn away I couldn't read it at all.”  
     “Ophiuchus? That’s a strange name. How do you pronounce it? _Oh-fee-ooch-uss_ do you think? Sound a bit old Greek.”  
     “Something like that, Sally, but the funny thing is I’m sure I’ve heard it before, somewhere.”  
     “Tom, tell Hermione and Ginny about Steyning Man’s disappearance.” This came from Sam.  
     “I don’t see what that’s got to do with any of this.”  
     “It probably doesn’t but Hermione asked us to find out all about the place - not just the grave slab - so go on, tell her.”  
     “Alright.” Tom turned back to Hermione and Ginny who were both looking at him expectantly. “Steyning Man is the name they gave to a skeleton they had in the Museum. It disappeared in April - stolen it seems.”  
     “Another Saxon?” This came from Hermione.  
     “Yeah. He was originally buried in what they call Heathens’ Corner just outside the parish boundary but was moved to the Museum after his discovery under someone’s house.  
     “And you say it went missing in April?”  
     “Yeah, the 21st I think. The police were called in but they found nothing, no sign of a break-in or anything. I read about it in the local paper. Oh, and there was something about someone saying they had seen some old bloke hanging around the museum at some point…” Tom stopped and looked at Sam.  
     “I don’t get it!” Sam interrupted Tom before he had a chance to explain what was on his mind. “I know I’m being boring but…what’s all this about? Why is Mr. Weasley so interested in Steyning’s history? I mean, surely it’s got nothing to do with this Riddle person you’ve been telling us about, has it?”  
     “I hope not Sam, but I’m just wondering…”  
     “About what?”  
     “I don’t know but look what we’ve got: the story of a bearded Saxon up at Chanctonbury Ring, Steyning Man who was also a Saxon and who is now missing from theMuseum; then there’s this old man Sam mentioned and the one seen by the museum who  may or may not be the same person. Then there’s Mr. Ollivander who’s gone missing who’s an old man.”  
     “You’re worried, aren’t you?”  
     “Yeah, I am Tom, and I don’t really know why. It’s probably because we’ve all been through so much recently. I’m probably overreacting and reading too much into situations.” She turned to Ginny. “I’ll tell your dad and Mr. Shacklebolt what we’ve found out and see what they make of it, then…oh…” Hermione suddenly went very quiet and put a hand to her mouth. Peggy reached over and put a hand on her arm.  
     “What is it, dear? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!  
     “I’ve just remembered who Ophiuchus was. The name came up in astronomy classes. Ophiuchus in the constellations was … the serpent bearer!”  
     “More snakes!” Tom sounded almost gleeful.  
     “Yeah, more snakes!”  
     “Surely you’re not thinking there’s a connection to…” Ginny’s eyes were wide and there was a look of fear on her face. “He’s dead, Hermione. We were there, we saw Harry…"  
     “Yeah, I know but his body’s disappeared!”  
     “You’re talking about this Riddle bloke again, aren’t you!” Tom had the beginnings of one of his smug expressions. “You’re thinking there’s some connection to him down here in Steyning.”  
     “But he’s dead!” repeated Ginny, glaring at Hermione. There was anger in her voice. “We saw what happened. We saw him die!”  
     “Yeah, we did, but then when he tried to kill Harry and the spell rebounded, he almost died then but he came back, didn’t he? If he’s done it once, he could he do it again!”  
     “No. I’m sure Ginny’s right, Hermione.” Tom felt some reassurance was needed. “It sounds like your Riddle bloke's well and truly kicked the bucket from what you’ve been telling us; and I’m sure sleepy old Steyning’s got nothing to do with any of this, anyway. St. Cuthman, the grave slab and the Saxon skeleton are part of our Muggle History, not your magical stuff. And it was all a very long time ago.”  
     “I hope you’re right!” Hermione appeared to pull herself together and looked at Ginny, reaching out and touching her arm.  
     “We should tell Harry.”  
     “But…”  
     “No, really, we must tell him, just I case something’s going on. Do you know where he is?”  
     “I…I haven’t seen him since we were all up at Hogwarts.”  
     “We’ll go and see if he’s up at Grimmauld Place.” Hermione stood up. “Peggy, could I have some of your Floo powder, please.”  
     “In the tin on the mantle shelf.”  
     Hermione took the tin down and handed it to Ginny who didn’t move.  
     “I can’t! I don’t know if he wants to see me.”  
     “Of course he does!”  
     “You can’t say that! How do you know? He just went off didn’t he. No one really knows where he is. If he’d wanted to meet up, he’d have contacted me; he would’ve sent an owl or something.”  
     “Ginny, Hedwig was killed!”  
     “I know that but…”  
     Sam, Sally and Tom had been listening to this conversation anxiously but it was Peggy who came up with a solution.  
     “I can quite see why it might be difficult or awkward for Ginny to meet Harry; and if he is at Grimmauld Place the last thing he probably wants is a deputation. I suggest Hermione and Tom go along and talk to him. Tom and he are about the same age; Harry is a bit older, I  know, but they are both boys and…well…that might help.”  
     After further discussion, everyone agreed this was the best plan.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 26  
Saturday 16th May

In which Hermione and Tom meet with Harry Potter

     “I know you’re there, Harry ... come on let us in!”  
     Hermione and Tom were staring up at a typical London Victorian or Edwardian terrace with houses three storeys high and short flights of steps leading to their front doors. Most were run down with paint peeling off the doors and dirty window frames. A few old cars were parked along the road but there was no sign of life and Tom sensed Hermione was glad of this. He looked up at the houses again and a look of puzzlement appeared on his face.  
     “Er…Hermione, you said your friend Harry lived at number 12.”  
     “Yeah, that’s right.” Hermione looked at him briefly before calling out once again.  
     “Harry, come on…please!”  
     “Well, there’s number 11,” persisted Tom, “and look, there’s number 13 next to it. There’s no number 12!”  
     “Yes there is Tom, you just can’t see it. It’s hidden from view by magic; but Harry should be able to hear us.” Hermione, now sounding impatient, stood back and called out again while Tom was aware, at that moment, that what she said about magic no longer sounded quite so strange to him.  
     “Harry, please! We’re not going anywhere until you let us in! It’s Hermione. Remember me? Hogwarts? Riddle? There’s no one around so you can…ah, he’s heard us!”  
     “How do you know he’s…” Tom began but broke off as Number 11 and Number 12 Grimmauld Place appeared to shiver slightly and then move apart. Not for the first time in the past few days, he gasped in astonishment. “Wow, will you look at that! Another house has appeared …wicked!”  
     “Come in quickly.” Hermione grabbed Tom’s arm and dragged him up the steps to the front door. Looking quickly up and down the street she turned the handle and pushed him inside, following quickly and shutting the door firmly behind her.  
     They were standing in a dark hallway but Tom could make out a figure standing at the far end. Hermione walked towards it, slightly hesitantly, he thought.  
     “Hello, Harry.” She seemed to be about to embrace the boy who stood before them but then appeared to think better of it. She dropped her hands to her sides.  
     “Hello Hermione. Look, sorry, nothing personal. I’ve just needed some time alone.”  
     “We understand that, Harry but you might have let us know. We’ve all been worried about you. By the way, this is Tom.”  
     “Hi Tom. Look, sorry, you’ve caught me at a bad time. There’s been ... I’ve had to...”  
     “Hey, don’t worry,” said Tom quickly. “I’ve heard all about what’s been happening, and about you, all you’ve been through.”  
     “Do you go to Hogwarts? I don’t remember seeing you around.”  
     “No, I go to Steyning Grammar School.”  
     “Tom’s a Muggle, Harry,” put in Hermione. “It’s a long story but he and his friends are helping us with something that’s been happening.”  
     “A Muggle?” Harry turned to look at Tom more closely. “No disrespect, Tom, but Muggles aren’t…”  
     “It’s alright,” interrupted Hermione. “Mr. Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley know all about it. You can tell Tom anything you can tell me.”  
     “Right, well, come on through. Sorry about the mess. I feel a bit ... sit down. I’ll just move this stuff.” Harry picked up several unwashed plates and mugs, putting them on the floor at the side of the sofa. He turned to Hermione.  
     “I haven’t felt like seeing anybody, not even Ginny. Apologise to her, will you?”  
     “She understands, Harry but she’s a bit hurt, you know. She thinks you don’t care anymore. You should talk to her, you really should!”  
     “Yeah, I will…yeah, I will. Anyway, it’s great to see you, it really is”  
     “And you, Harry. Like I said, we’ve been really worried, you know. Anyway, look, Tom and I have come to tell you what’s been happening.”  
     “Happening?”  
     “Yeah.” Hermione turned to Tom. “Tell him about the grave slab.”  
     “OK. Mr. Weasley was looking at a grave slab in Steyning church porch and…  
`   “Hang on! What’s a grave slab, where’s Steyning and what was Mr. Weasley doing there?” Harry looked and sounded confused.  
     “A grave slab is a way of marking a grave” explained Tom. “It’s a piece of stone over the grave site. It’s a bit like a headstone only horizontal not vertical.”  
     “And Steyning?”  
     “Small market town in West Sussex.”  
     “Mr. Weasley,” added Hermione, “was having a look around because Ginny had been down there looking for Mr. Ollivander.”  
     “Ginny? Mr. Ollivander?” If possible, Harry was beginning to look and sound even more confused. Tom noticed he seemed not to have had a proper meal in days. He looked thin and worn out but listened intently as Hermione explained about how Mr. Ollivander had been staying with the Weasley’s aunt Muriel and how she, Muriel, had overheard him mention Steyning and something about a ring and how she had been worried for his safety. Ginny, she told Harry, had come to Steyning to look for him, sprained her ankle up at Chanctonbury Ring, an old hill fort, and met up with Sam, Sally and Tom who had been a great help. She finished by telling him about the grave slab in Steyning Church porch.  
     “And I was asked,” Hermione concluded, “to translate some runes written on it.” She put her hand in a pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper and read out what was written on it. ‘ _Here lies my noble brother Ophiuchus of pure blood and noble cause who was_ ’... then some stuff difficult to read, and then something like _‘cursed be she and all her kind’_ … the rest was so worn away I couldn’t read it at all.”  
     “Ophiuchus? You mean as in the constellations? He was the serpent bearer, wasn’t he?” As he spoke Harry’s face lit up and a different and less careworn person made a brief appearance. Tom also noticed that Hermione smiled, something she had not been doing very much since they had met her.  
     “So, you were listening in Astronomy lessons after all, Harry! You were quicker than I was at remembering that!”  
     “Hey! That’s a first! I must tell Ron!”  
     “He’d love to hear from you, he really would!”  
     “Er, Ron?” This came from Tom. “Is that Ginny’s brother?”  
     “Yeah, one of our friends,” explained Harry. “one of my…our…closest friends.” He looked back at Hermione. “What’s all this about? I’m still lost! What has a grave slab or whatever it is and some runes written on it got to do with anything?”  
     “A lot of snakes, Harry. Riddle? The heir of Slytherin? And there’s something else I’ve found out which I never knew before.” She looked at Tom. “Steyning used to be a  
wizarding community way back, like the place you, Sam and Sally visited - Godric’s Hollow. I looked it up in the Hogwarts library. Apparently, it was quite famous for Quidditch.”  
     “Wow! Really?” Tom looked excited. He turned to Harry.  
     “I read about Quidditch in that ‘History of Magic’ book. I must tell Sam and Sally! Would it have had a Quidditch pitch?”  
     “Almost certainly.”  
     “Do you play Quidditch, Harry?”  
     “A bit, yeah.” A look Tom couldn’t interpret crossed Harry’s face but he continued speaking before he could ask anything further.  
     “Are you saying, Hermione, that all this stuff has something to do with Riddle? Come on! He’s dead, in case it’s slipped your mind! And as for having anything to do with this Steyning place, that’s crazy!”  
     “Steyning’s actually quite close to Little Hangleton,” replied Hermione, “and as far as being dead goes, when he tried to kill you when you were a baby, he very nearly died but came back, didn’t he! So, can we really be sure he’s dead?”  
     “Of course we can, this time!” There was a touch of impatience, even anger, in Harry’s voice. “You were there Hermione, you, Ron and all the others. You all saw what happened. I killed him because I was master of the Elder Wand, remember? This is all rubbish stuff you’re talking! Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”  
     “No, you haven’t!” It was now Hermione’s turn to sound angry.” “You just want us leave you so you can slowly rot in here for the rest of your life!” She paused and her voice took on a more conciliatory tone.  
     “Harry, I know you’ve been though a lot but you’ve come through it, haven’t you! We all have, you Ron, Neville, Ginny, Luna - all your friends.”  
     “Yeah, I know that. There’s no need to keep banging on about it, or about some grave slab down in this Steyning place - interesting but hardly important!”  
     “I agree it’s probably nothing at all but what you probably don’t know is that there have been other things going on.”  
     “What sort of things?”  
     “People are being hurt, Harry. Someone used the Cruciatus Curse in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade station was set on fire a couple of days ago. This is almost certainly because Gringotts is closed and the goblins are nowhere to be seen. No one can get at their money and this is causing big problems. Also, Riddle’s body has disappeared.”  
     “What?” This last piece of information made Harry sit up. “What do you mean?”  
     “Remember that after he was killed, his body was put in a back room at Hogwarts. Nobody knew what to do with it, did they? When someone went to check on it several hours later, it had disappeared. Mr. Shacklebolt thinks it may have been taken by some Death Eaters but we don’t know. We need your help and you’re sitting in here doing nothing! That’s not the Harry we know and love, is it!  
     “Hermione, don’t you think you’re....” began Tom.  
     “... being a bit hard on him? No, I don’t think so!” Hermione turned back to look at Harry.  
     “I don’t like seeing you like this. Even when we were at our lowest and on the run looking for Horcruxes and Ron had left us, you didn’t give up, did you? So, what is it? Why aren’t you at least talking to us?”  
     “You really want to know?” Harry stood up and began pacing the room. “I’ll tell you! I feel empty, completely drained after all I’ve been through; and on top of that there’s nothing for me out there! My Mum and Dad have both been murdered, my godfather Sirius is dead, also murdered. I have no other family and before you say it, I’m not going back to the Dursleys, after the way they treated me!”  
     “Sorry, who are these Dursleys?” This came from Tom.  
     “After Harry’s parents were killed by Riddle,” explained Hermione, “Professor Dumbledore took him to his aunt’s family for protection. Mrs. Dursley is Harry’s mother’s sister but she, her husband and their son Dudley treated him very badly when he was growing up.”  
     “Right. Sorry to hear that.” Tom wanted to ask more about Ron and Horcruxes but didn’t get the chance because Hermione was in full flow.  
     “Don’t we count as your family, Harry? Me, Ron, Ginny and all your other friends?”  
     “Yeah, of course you do, Hermione but ...well, it’s not the same, is it?”  
     “It is the same, Harry! I gave up my parents, if you care to remember. I put a spell on them and sent them to Australia so they’d be safe from Death Eaters. You, Ron and our friends became my family!”  
     “Yeah, OK, sorry.” This seemed to be a path Harry was not keen to go down. He changed the subject.  
     “This stuff you and Tom have been telling me about Steyning. Do you really think it’s got anything to do with Riddle’s body disappearing?”  
     “Like I said, probably not but if nothing else, there does seem to be a connection to Steyning through Mr. Ollivander and we should try and find out what’s happened to him. You talked with him when we were in Shell cottage, remember? You questioned him about the Elder Wand, you got him talking. He’s disappeared and may be in trouble; and he’s not young and has been through a lot already. Come with us, Harry. Come and help find out what’s happening. I’m sure Tom’s friends Sam and Sally would love to meet you, wouldn’t they Tom.”  
     “They would, they really would.”  
     “Well...”  
     “Harry, the Ministry thinks all this trouble with Gringotts is down to a few surviving Riddle followers - Death Eaters. They think they have taken Riddle’s body and stirred up trouble with the goblins. Sound familiar?”  
     “You’re thinking they might be on the wrong track like before?”  
     “Exactly, and who was right then?  
     “We were!”  
     “Exactly! So, are you coming with us or are you going to hang around in here and do nothing?”  
     “OK Hermione, but ...”  
     “No buts, Harry Potter! Come on!” Hermione stood up and disappeared into the hallway.  
     “OK, you win!” Harry called after her. He turned to Tom. “Hermione’s really clever but a bit scary at times.”  
     “A bit like my friend Sam!”  
     “Is she clever and a bit scary too?”  
     “Yeah, she is but I like her... a lot, actually.” Tom paused before continuing.  
     “Erm, you and Hermione ... are you...?  
     “No... no. We’re very, very good friends - more than that really. She’s a sort of sister to me. No, it’s Ginny. I... er...like… very much... er... more than very much, actually.”  
     “Women, eh,” added Tom sagely. “Scary.”  
     “Yeah, definitely.”  
     “But not as scary as this Riddle bloke of yours sounds!”  
     “You’re right there, but he’s dead, he’s definitely dead, whatever Hermione thinks!”  
     “Yeah, sounds like it.”  
     “Are you two actually coming?” Hermione’s voice from the hallway sounded impatient.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 27  
Monday 18th May

In which Kinglesy Shacklebolt meets with Minerva MacGonagal and Arthur Weasley

    “Minerva, good of you to come up to the Ministry at such short notice.”  
     Kingsley Shacklebolt rose from behind his desk in his office at the Ministry of Magic and shook the hand of a tall middle-aged lady in dark robes and wearing one of those pointed hats everyone associates with witches and wizards. Behind her stood Arthur Weasley, still dressed in the rumpled dark blue suit he was wearing when he met with Sam and Tom in Steyning church just under two days ago.  
     “I shan’t detain you and Arthur a minute longer than is necessary,” continued the Minister, resuming his seat at the desk, “but you both need to know more of what’s been going on. I had hoped that once Riddle had been defeated we could begin a period of recovery but it appears we have another major problem on our hands.”  
     “Would that be Gringotts, Kingsley?”  
     “That’s right, Minerva. The bank is closed and the goblins that run it have disappeared. No one knows where they are. This means no one can get at their deposits and this is causing great difficulty. We have issued Muggle-type paper money to alleviate the situation but it’s not gone down well. Everyone mistrusts it. This seems to have resulted in outbreaks of violence and someone used one of the unforgivable curses on a shopkeeper in Diagon Alley.  
     “Oh no! Not ...” Arthur Weasley put a hand to his mouth.  
     “Not Avada Kedavra, no. It was the Cruciatus Curse; bad enough, though, and I should tell you there have been other disturbances up and down the country which may or may not be connected with what I’m talking about.”  
     “Surely someone knows where these goblins have gone.”  
     “I’m afraid not, Minerva. Cuthbert Mockridge, head of the in the Goblin Liaison Office here at the Ministry, is as much in the dark as we are. He has had no contact with them since they came to complain about Gringotts being damaged by their dragon when Harry, Hermione and Ron were looking for Horcruxes in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault. That was on the 1st of May. The goblins may be involved in the violence and disturbances but I’m thinking it’s more likely to be a few Death Eaters, who are still at large. We were never sure we rounded them all up.”  
     “Lucius Malfoy?” Arthur Weasley mentioned the name with some bitterness in his voice.  
     “He was initially a Death Eater, that’s true, but no, I think we can discount him. He, his wife and their son Draco are keeping their heads down at Malfoy Manor. We’re keeping an eye.”  
     “Part of me wants to feel sorry for them,” put in Minerva, “but, och well, it’s only a wee part!”  
    “There was always a lower level of support for Riddle and we were never completely sure of its composition, were we?”  
     “I agree with you Arthur, and if we’re right, we must catch them before any more damage is done. I’ve already alerted the Auror Department here at the ministry.”  
     “I think we should contact Harry,” put in Minerva. “He has a right to know what’s been happening and as he wanted to become an Auror, why don’t we involve him; nothing dangerous of course; the poor wee boy’s been through too much already.”  
     “A very good idea but where is he?” Kingsley looked from one to the other questioningly. It was Arthur who answered.  
     “Molly thinks he’s hiding out in the house his late godfather Sirius Black left him.”  
     “I wish you could persuade him to go back to Hogwarts, Arthur,” said Minerva. “And your Ron! If you’ll pardon my saying, he’s wasting his time in that joke shop in Diagon Alley and it’s dangerous there at present. Both need to resume their education.”  
     “I know what you’re thinking!” Arthur Weasley was grinning. “You want Harry back as Seeker in the Gryffindor Quidditch team!”  
     “Well there is that, Arthur. I do hope the young man can still remember how get on a broom! Such a waste; he was one of the finest Seekers I have seen in many a long year.”  
     “Well, let’s hope we will see him in the air very soon, once all this nonsense has been dealt with. Now, is there anything else before I have to leave you for yet another meeting about the Gringott’s crisis.”  
     “There is one thing, Kingsley,” said Arthur. “I have been talking to Hermione Granger and she doesn’t think our present problems are the work of a few remaining Riddle supporters. She thinks there is something more else going on but wasn’t being very specific in her letter.”  
     “What’s worrying her?” asked Minerva.  
     “She told me about a number of coincidences and sounded genuinely worried about something to do with that grave slab in Steyning Church porch.  
     “Steyning?”  
     “Small market town in West Sussex. There’s an old church down there with this interesting-looking grave slab in the porch. I showed Kingsley a photo a while back. It’s got runic writing and a snake design on it.”  
     “Well,” said Minerva, “Miss Granger is a sensible, level-headed girl with one of the finest brains I’ve come across in a long while but the poor wee thing has been through more than a girl of her age should ever experience. She’s probably seeing conspiracy where there is none. No, for my money, we’re dealing with a few of Riddle’s former supporters bent on trouble, nothing more.”  
     “I hope you’re right, Minerva, I hope you’re right. We’ve had enough trouble to last a lifetime and we don’t want any more!”


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 28  
Saturday 23rd May

In which they visit Chanctonbury Ring at midnight

     It was now nearly ten o’clock at night on the following Saturday and they had gathered in the front room of Saxon Cottage. Following his meeting with Hermione and Tom, Harry had accompanied them the Leakey Cauldron in Diagon Alley where he had met up with Ginny and Ron and been nearly crushed to death by Hagrid’s joyful bear hug. The three of them had then travelled down to Saxon Cottage by Floo Powder where they met up with Sally, Sam and Tom. It had been agreed to visit Chanctonbury Ring at midnight to see if there was any truth in the story about walking round it in an anti-clockwise direction. Hermione suggested that only she, Ron and Harry should go as it might be dangerous but Sam, Sally and Tom insisted they come along as well and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  
     The set off at around ten o’clock. Peggy had contacted the Boarding House to say there was a midnight walk up around Steyning and hoped that Sam, Sally and Tom would be allowed to help. She told Mr. Rodale that several older people would be amongst the party and it would be helpful if a few younger ones would be around to help if it was necessary. As it was a late finish, Peggy added, she was quite happy to put the three of them up for the night and return them to the boarding house in the morning. Mr. Rodale asked if this was too much trouble and upon being assured that it wasn’t, agreed to her request.  
     They stopped under one of the larger beach trees which stood along the southern edge of Chanctonbury Ring. In the darkness, it had taken them longer to walk up there than on the previous two occasions; and everything looked very different. The trees cast long shadows and the centre of the old hill fort appeared impenetrable and forbidding.  
     Tom took out his torch and looked at his watch.  
     “Eleven fifty-five,” he said quietly.  
     “Do you think we all need to walk round?” This came from Sally.  
     “I think there may be more of a chance of success if we do,” said Hermione. “Perhaps only one person needs do it but to be on the safe side, I suggest we all go. I don’t know why but somehow it feels the right thing to do.”  
     “I can’t believe anything’s going to happen, I really can’t!” This came from Sam who despite her scepticism sounded nervous.  
     “Maybe, maybe not but we’ve got to try for Mr. Ollivander’s sake,” said Ginny firmly.  
     “What’s the time now, Tom?”  
     “Coming up to eleven fifty-six.” He turned to Sam and Sally. “Got your torches? We don’t want to be tripping over bushes and tree roots!”  
     Sam and Sally pulled out their torches and checked they were working. Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Harry produced wands, said something under their breath and a light appeared at the end of each one. Somewhere close by there was a rustling sound which made them all start but it was only some nocturnal creature going about its business. In the distance a dog barked. The minutes passed and the moon went behind a cloud.  
     “Right.” Tom looked at his watch again. “It’s Midnight. Come on.”  
     They set off in an anti-clockwise direction in single file with Ginny leading the way, her wand providing a surprising amount of illumination. Keeping the earthwork on their left as they walked, it took about five minutes to complete one circuit. Successive ones took less time as they became familiar with the terrain. When they had completed seven circuits, they stopped under the beach tree where they had started out and looked nervously about them. All was quiet.  
     “What happens now?” whispered Ron. No one had an answer for him and all stood still and looked around. Suddenly, Tom shone his torch towards the middle of the old hill fort.  
     “I thought I heard something,” he whispered.  
     “Probably an animal of some sort.” Sam still sounded nervous.  
     “Yeah, but if something’s going to happen, I should think it’s going to be in the middle somewhere.”  
     “Tom’s right,” said Harry who raised his wand and pointed it in the direction of Tom’s torch beam. “We ought to go and have a look.”  
     Keeping close together, they climbed over the shallow embankment and pushed their way through bushes and saplings towards the centre of the Ring. After covering the short distance, they saw in front of them by the light of torches and wands the grassy clearing and the wire fence surrounding the archaeological dig. Harry moved forward and shone his wand and down into the pit. After a moment, he climbed over the wire fence and jumped down and out of sight. Ron and Hermione walked forward towards the wire and the others followed them. Wands and torches were shone into the excavation and picked out Harry poking around below, picking up pieces of stone which Tom recognised as similar to those he had seen.  
     “Be careful, Harry.” This came from Ginny.  
     “It’s OK. I’m coming up.”  
     Climbing onto one of the flint walls and then jumping onto the grass at the edge of the excavation, much as Tom had done, Harry climbed over the wire fence and joined his friends.  
     “There’s nothing down there, no door or anything like that but I did find this, though.” He put his hand in the pocket of his jeans and held out a piece of rock for the others to see.  
     “May I?” Tom took it and shining his torch on it, turned it over in his hands.  
     “I found a piece like this and it’s got the same pattern on it, a snake design.”  
     “Snake design?” Hermione almost snatched the rock out of Tom’s hands. She looked closely at it and then glanced up at the others, a worried expression on her face.  
     “It looks very much like what we saw on that grave slab in the church porch but I don’t understand….”  
     She did not get any further as Ginny suddenly shouted something out and pointed. Through the trees to the south west of where they were standing, they saw a bright light. It looked as though someone was shining a powerful torch in their direction but then the light moved not horizontally but vertically and now seemed to be up in the trees. They all stood stock still. Hermione, Ron and Harry muttered something and the lights at the ends of their wands went out. Sam, Sally and Tom switched off their torches.  
     “Come on,” Ron whispered. “Let’s go and see what it is.” He led the way with Sam next to him, shining her torch at her feet so as not to attract too much attention but allowing them to see where they were going. They pushed their way through saplings and bushes, conscious of all the noise they seemed to be making. The bright light was still visible although briefly obscured from time to time behind trees as they moved cautiously towards it. When they were only a short distance away, they stopped.  
     “I don’t think there’s anyone here,” whispered Hermione. “And look!” She pointed with her wand. “It is actually up in the trees!”  
     “How did it get up there? What is it?” asked Sally.  
     “I don’t know,” replied Hermione, “but it may be something to do with our walking round the ring. It may be here to guide us to this spot.”  
     “Do you think so?” This came from Sam who was clutching Tom’s arm. Although she was hurting him a little, he didn’t say or do anything. This was partly because he quite liked the physical contact but also because he was distracted, trying to remember something which then came to him.  
     “I think I may know what’s here. I’ve just remembered reading that there was a second excavation somewhere to the south west of the one in the middle and I think we’ve been walking roughly in a south-westerly direction.”  
     “Sally and I were over in this part of the Ring when we were last up here,” said Sam, “and we didn’t see anything, did we Sally?”  
     “No.”  
     “That’s probably because of these.” Tom shone his torch towards a particularly thick clump of saplings and bushes in front of them. “It’s quite likely,” he continued, “the second excavation’s in that thicket and if it is you could well have missed it. In any case, none of us covered every inch of the ground, did we?”  
     “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said Harry. “I suggest Hermione, Ron and I go and have a have a closer look. I’m only saying this because we have wands and if there is something dangerous in there, we are better equipped to deal with it.”  
     This made sense so gripping their wands tightly in their hands, Hermione, Harry and Ron pushed through the dense undergrowth, making towards the bright ball of light which still hung in the trees in front of them, and disappeared from view.  
     “I hope they’ll be alright,” said Sam. “That light frightens me. How does it stay up there?”  
     “How did Ginny lift that vase in Peggy’s cottage,” put in Sally. “There’s a lot we can’t explain, isn’t there.”  
     They waited anxiously for a few minutes and then heard Harry call out, saying it was safe to come and join them. They pushed through the dense undergrowth and bushes and soon joined Hermione, Harry and Ron standing in a small grass-covered clearing not unlike the one in the middle of the Ring they had just visited. At its centre was a depression in the ground, the bottom hidden from view in the darkness. At one time the excavation, if that’s what it was, must have been surrounded by a wooden fence, no doubt to keep people from falling in. This had now rotted away and only a few wooden stakes remained, covered in moss. The strange ball of light was still there, hovering over the site but it looked dimmer than when they first saw it. As they watched, it grew dimmers still, like a torch where the battery is fast running out. Before long it was barely visible and then vanished altogether.  
     “It’s just like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland,” said Sam. Sally and Tom nodded as did Hermione. Something seemed to register with Harry but Ron looked puzzled.  
     “I really think it was sent to guide us here after we had walked round the Ring. I don’t think we would have found this place very easily without it.” Hermione turned to Tom. “Do you know any more about it?”  
     “As far as I remember, it’s the remains of a Romano British temple like the one in the middle. There was also something odd about it, I think.”  
     “Well, it’s certainly not rectangular like the other one.” Sam was pointing her torch into the depression illuminating a floor that was several yards beneath ground level. “But it’s difficult to tell what shape it actually is with all the dead leaves and stuff covering the bottom.”  
     “That looks like a way down.” Sally was shining her torch at the eastern end where they all saw that there was a steep grassy slope that led down from ground level. They all went carefully down and stepped onto the floor of the excavation. Sally  
bent down and with her hand cleared some of the dead leaves and twigs.  
     “It looks like one of those Roman floors,” she said. “It’s made up of little square bits of stone of different colours.”  
     “Mosaic,” said Tom coming over and peering at the cleared space. “It’s Romano- British, remember, so could well have a mosaic floor.”  
     With the six of them working, it took a few ten minutes to get the floor clear of the dead leaves, twigs and other debris that had accumulated over what appeared quite a long period of time. They uncovered a mosaic floor made up of what would originally have been small white squares with two rings of black ones towards the centre. They were stained by centuries of rain and wind and there were patches where they were missing, revealing a crumbling mortar beneath. Other than the two black mosaic circles there was no discernable pattern but it was Sally who drew everyone’s attention to the overall shape of the floor.  
     “It’s not rectangular,” she said. “It’s sort of star-shaped.”  
     “Not quite like a star,” said Hermione, shining her wand around the edge of the excavation. “A star is usually depicted with four points. This has seven.”  
     “That’s it,” cried Tom. “It’s coming back to me now. It was first excavated at the turn of the century - 1909, I think - and that’s what was different about this building. It was heptagonal in shape, like a pentangle but instead of five points it has seven.”  
     “Isn’t the pentangle associated with the Devil,” asked Sam nervously. “Don’t forget Peggy told us that if you walk round the Ring as we have, the devil appears!”  
     “Yes, but this is heptagonal, Sam, not pentangular - if there is such a word!”  
     “Yeah, I heard what you said but I still don’t like it.”  
     While they were having this conversation, Hermione had been examining the walls. Parts had crumbled away and were only a foot or so above the mosaic floor. Others reached up to ground level and were two or three yards in height. When she walked right round, she joined the others who were standing in the middle.  
     “I don’t know if it means anything,” she said, “but come and have a look at this.” She led them over to the western end and pointed to a patch of wall in front of her, making up one side of one of the heptagonal arms. The floor space was limited here so they difficulty seeing what she was pointing at.  
    “Most of the wall,” she continued, “has a mixture of brick and flint in no particular pattern. In fact, it all looks rather random, as if the builders had a pile of flints and a pile of bricks and just grabbed what was to hand - except here.” Hermione pointed with her wand and they could all see a rectangular patch of brick. They all stared at it but nobody came up with any answers. Ron suggested they all had a look round to see if Hermione had missed anything but when they arrived back in front of the patch of brick, all of them said they could see nothing out of the ordinary and certainly no other similar rectangles.  
     “They look like very old bricks,” Sally reached out and prodded one of them with a finger. A bit of brick dust came away. “They look like the bricks in the yard at the back of the Leakey Cauldron. They were old-looking and crumbly, weren’t they?”  
     While Sally was in the middle of explaining to Harry and Ron how she, Sally and Tom came to know this, Hermione suddenly walked over to the wall and tapped some of the bricks within the rectangular pattern with her wand and stood back expectantly. Nothing happened.  
     “Three up, two across, Hermy,” put in Ron. “I can see what you’re doing but this isn’t Diagon Alley. Good try, though.”  
     “But she could be on to something!” Harry sounded quite excited. “Sally’s right, these bricks look very much like those at the Leaky Cauldron and could work something like the way in to Diagon Alley. You just need a different set of instructions. Instead of three up, two across maybe it’s - I don’t know - four down, five across.”  
     “Yeah but even if we’re right, we have no way of knowing what it is, do we,” said Ron.  
     “If that ball of light appeared because we walked round the ring seven times and it was sent to guide us here, then we were brought here for a reason.” As she spoke, Hermione was looking intently at the wall.  
     “But we don’t know that it was us that made the ball appear, Hermione.” said Tom.  
     “That’s true, but I still think we’ve been led here. The question is why? Why lead us to an old excavation like this which hasn’t been visited for what looks like hundreds of years?”  
     “Try nineteen across, nine down,” said Sally suddenly.  
     Everyone looked at her.  
     “Tom said the site was discovered in 1909 – that’s nineteen and nine. Or maybe try nine across and nineteen down.”  
     “I don’t think that’s going to work,” Hermione again went up to the brick rectangle and looked at it closely. “There are fewer than nineteen across and down. There are…” She counted the bricks with the aid if her wand, “…seven across and five down.”  
     “Well, we’ve got a heptagonal floor shape,” said Sam. “That’s seven so maybe …”  
     “Hey, the girl’s a genius!” This came from Ron. “Hermy, you’ve got serious competition!”  
     Hermione scowled at him but Sam looked quite pleased. Harry patted her on the back.  
     “OK, he said, “but that’s only one of the coordinates. If it works like your Diagon Alley entrance, we need another.”  
     “Try two,” put in Sally.  
     They all looked at her with puzzled expressions.  
     “There are two black rings,” she explained. “Try seven across and two down and if that doesn’t work, try two across and seven down.”  
     Hermione stepped up to the patch of bricks a third time and with her wand traced seven across and tapped. She then went two down and did the same thing. Nothing happened. She tried the reverse as Sally had suggested but with the same result.  
     “It’s no use,” said Harry resignedly. “Were on the wrong track. If there is a way in, it’s obviously not like this.”  
     “Perhaps we should call it a day,” said Sam. “Although I hate to admit it, maybe Tom’s right about the ball of light.”  
     “Hey, that’s a first, Sally!”  
     “Oh, please! Maybe the ball of light appearing just happened to coincide with us being here. Maybe it was just trying to scare us off. Peggy said this sort of thing has happened up here before and she mentioned those blokes who saw something similar.”  
     “She’s right.” This came from Ginny who had not said much up to now. “Perhaps we should just go home. I can’t see that anything’s changed since we walked round the ring.”  
     “We don’t actually know that,” put in Tom, “but we can’t search the whole area to see if we’ve missed anything, can we. There’s just too much and it’s also dark, making it difficult to see things even with torches and wands.”  
     They all sent a few more minutes discussing it before agreeing there was nothing more they could do. They set off through the undergrowth and came out on the south side of the Ring where they clambered over the outer earthwork and picked up the track leading east towards Steyning. They had only been walking about a minute before Sam suddenly stopped and looked behind her.  
     “Where’s Sally?” she asked. No one knew. They had all assumed she was with them.  
     “I’ll go back and look for her.” This came from Tom.  
     “I think we should all go,” suggested Hermione and seeing that Sam was about to call out, added “I think we should be as quiet as possible. If someone else is up here, we don’t want to let whoever it is know where we are.”  
     They turned and clambered back over the earthwork before plunging through the undergrowth. As the strange ball of light had now disappeared, it was hard to find their way towards the clearing without its guidance but after a minute or so of blundering around they reached the clearing and saw when they shone torches and wands down onto the mosaic floor Sally standing where they had left her. They moved as one body towards the ramp that led down onto the site and approached her cautiously.  
     “Sally, are you OK?” Sam got hold of her arm. “You gave us quite a scare when we saw you weren’t with us.”  
     “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that there was something niggling me and I couldn’t quite place it but now I’ve remembered.”  
     “What?” asked Tom.  
     “It’s to do with what we have just been trying with the bricks and numbers. There’s one thing we haven’t tried.”  
     “Yes, we have,” Ron sounded impatient. “We all agreed it wasn’t going to work, this thinking it was the same as Diagon Alley to get in. There’s nothing else we can try. There are no other clues, are there.”  
     “There are two combinations we haven’t tried,” Sally was shining her torch down onto the floor as she spoke. “I suggested that the number two go with the seven points of the pentangle…”  
     “Heptagon,” put in Tom.  
     “Stop being pedantic.” Sam glared him. “Let Sally finish.”  
     “… the two because of the two back rings in the mosaic; but that doesn’t work and that’s maybe because it shouldn’t be two but three.”  
     Not for the first time, everyone looked confused. And then Hermione’s face lit up. “I know what you’re on about! You’re thinking the clue is not in the two black rings but the three thicker white ones they divide the white up into!”  
     “That’s right.” Sally looked relieved that Hermione understood what she was thinking. “I agree with Ron, it’s probably not going to work but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”  
     Hermione went over to the patch of bricks and pointed her wand. She turned to look at the others.  
     “Right, I’m going to try three across and seven down.” She tapped the bricks and stood back. Nothing happened.  
     “Last chance! Seven across and three down.” Once again Hermione tapped the relevant bricks and stood back. For a few seconds, nothing happened and then there was a slight rumble and the noise of bricks sliding together and before they knew it, a brick archway stood before them, very similar to that which allowed visitors to enter Diagon Alley from the yard at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. No one said anything but all shone their torches and wands at the archway and saw a flight of stone step leading down into the darkness.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 29  
Saturday 23rd May

In which they discover what is under Chanctonbury Ring

     They stood for some minutes, staring at the archway. Then Harry stepped forward.  
     “I suggest Ron and I go first as we have wands; then Sam, Sally and Tom. Can you bring up the rear, Hermione, with Ginny?”  
     “Yes, that’s fine and…Harry?”  
     “Yes?”  
     “Nothing, it’s just that…”  
     “What?”  
     “It’s just that you sound like the old Harry, that’s all.”  
     Harry didn’t say anything but smiled briefly at her before turning back to the archway. The stone steps led straight down before turning slightly to the right and continuing on out of sight. The passageway was very narrow and it was strictly single file until they reached the bottom of the steps where the passage broadened before another archway.  
     “It looks very much like the one we opened,” said Sally, “Do you think it opened at the same time?”  
     “I shouldn’t think so,” Hermione had moved forward to run here hands over the stonework. Let’s keep going. I really don’t like us all being down here not knowing what we’ll find.”  
     Harry walked through the archway and the others followed, continuing in single file as the passage had narrowed again. It was carved out of solid chalk and was, surprisingly, very dry. This was helpful as the descent was steep and had the floor been damp it they would have found it difficult to keep their footing. After another minute or so the tunnel widened again. In front of them stood an old oaken door. Raising his wand, Harry stepped forward and examined it.  
     “It looks very old. I’m going to see if I can open it.”  
     Harry passed Ron his wand and took hold of a large iron ring with both hands. With some effort, he managed to turn it ant-clockwise and they could all hear the sound of a latch lifting on the other side of the door. Harry stood back and with a quick glance at the others, pushed at the door which opened half way revealing a dense blackness beyond. Nobody moved or said anything then Harry, gesturing to Ron to pass him back his wand, took a tentative step forward, edged past the half-open door and disappeared from view. Hermione moved forward to stand next to Ron staring, like him, into the darkness beyond, her wand held out in front of her. Sam, not for the first time, became aware of just how close the bond was between the three of them. She was thinking about this when Harry put his head back round the door and told them it was safe to come in.  
    After the narrowness of the stairs and the passage that led to the door, they were pleasantly surprised to find themselves in what appeared quite a large room. The floor was made up of flag stones and the walls, when they shone wands and torches around, were of blocks of stone, the ceiling vaulted and supported by stone columns. The room, or as much of it as they could see by wand and torch light, resembled an ancient church or crypt. In the middle of it stood a large wooden table. It was made of planks of what looked like oak and was warped and stained. There were two wooden chairs and a pewter plate at the far end of the table along with a bone-handled knife. The plate had what looked like breadcrumbs on it. The table resembled, Sally thought, like the one in the Leakey Cauldron, but her thoughts were curtailed when Ron, who had moved towards the far side of the room, suddenly cried out, making them all jump. Hermione and Harry instinctively raised their wands.  
     “What is it, are you alright?” This came from Ginny who ran over to him. By way of answer Ron pointed at what looked like a series of niches in the wall. They were all empty but when they joined Ron who was standing in front of the last one they could see that this one was not. It extended some three feet into the wall and was about seven feet long. Lying in it was what looked like a complete skeleton. They all stared at it in disbelief until Tom steeped forward for a closer look.  
     “I’ve seen this before,” he said excitedly. “It’s the Saxon skeleton missing from Steyning Museum!”  
     “How can you be so sure,” asked Sam. “One skeleton looks much like another if you ask me!”  
     “No, they don’t. I’m no expert but this is definitely the one. For one thing, it’s the size. Most Saxon skeletons are shorter. This bloke is around five foot nine or so and that was tall for those times. The one in the Museum was also from a tall bloke. It’s definitely the one.”  
     “What’s it doing down here?” asked Sally.  
     “No idea but I think we should take it back.”  
     “No, we won’t!” Hermione spoke decisively. “We mustn’t touch it. If we move it, whoever put it there will know someone’s been down here. Leave it for now, Tom. When we know what this place is and what’s going on, then maybe we can but not at the moment.  
     “OK, Hermione. You’re right. Anyway, we’re looking for a live person, not a dead one.”  
     “Mr. Ollivander!” Ginny blurted out the name put her hand to her mouth. “I’d almost forgotten why we came here in the first place!”  
     What followed Ginny’s words took everyone by surprise. In the brief silence that followed, there was a rustling noise from the far side of the room and what sounded like a moan. Nobody said anything and three wands and three torches were extinguished simultaneously leaving them standing in total darkness and silence. Nobody moved for over a minute before Ginny’s whisper broke this silence.  
     “There’s someone over there. Shall I go and have a look?”  
     “You must be crazy!” This came from Ron who gripped her arm tightly. “Stay right here. We don’t know…”  
     “I think I do, Ron. It’s Mr. Ollivander over there.”  
     “How can you possibly…”  
     “Because I just mentioned his name and immediately afterwards we heard those sounds. He must have heard me speak.”  
     “Wait.” Hermione was whispering but sounded very anxious. “Ginny has a point. The sounds we heard did follow her saying his name quite loudly but it might be some sort of trap.” She turned to Harry. “Remember Bathilda’s cottage? How we were nearly fooled?”  
     “Yeah, we were lucky to come out that alive. It was all thanks to you that we did. You’re right, it might be a trap. It might be someone wanting us to think it’s Mr. Ollivander like we were supposed to think the person we met in Godric’s Hollow was Bathilda.”  
     “Bathilda?” Sam, Sally and Tom spoke her name together.  
     “Yeah,” said Harry, “but no time to explain now. Come on Ginny, we’ll go and have a look. The rest of you stay here.”  
     The two of them moved off into the darkness while the others stood anxiously waiting for something to happen. After a short while they saw Harry’s wand light up, its tip playing over the far wall and then down to the ground at his feet. Ginny’s wand then did the same and then she called out.  
     “It’s OK. Come on over.”  
     Hermione exhaled sharply and said something under her breath. The light at the tip of her wand came on and Sam, Sally and Tom took this as a cue to do switch on their torches. They walked cautiously towards the far wall, guided by the light from Harry and Ginny’s wands. When they arrived, they saw Ginny bending over a shape on the floor and when she looked up they could see tears in her eyes.  
     “It’s Mr. Ollivander,” she whispered, “and he doesn’t look too good.”  
     They could see that Ginny was right. He was stretched out on an old blanket and were it not for his eyes moving slightly and a soft moan escaping his lips, they would have thought him dead.  
     “We have to get him away from here.” This came from Hermione who was looking anxiously around. “We have been here too long and we don’t know who or what we are dealing with.”  
     “How can we move him?” Ginny was kneeling beside Mr. Ollivander but he seemed unaware of her proximity. “He can’t walk, he’s barely conscious. What can we do?”  
     “Perhaps we shouldn’t move him at all,” suggested Ron. “It might make him worse.”  
     “We can’t just leave him here, can we!” Ginny was close to tears.  
     The next couple of hours were two of the hardest Sam, Sally and Tom could ever remember. They had all agreed Mr. Ollivander could not be left, even though removing him might be dangerous, not only because of his condition but also by doing so they would provide evidence that someone had been down there. Tom had argued that since this was the case, they might as well take the Museum bones as well. No one thought this a good idea for two main reasons. In the first place, how would they manage to carry them as well as Mr. Ollivander since there was no way he was going to be able to walk. Secondly, Hermione pointed out, there was no point in drawing more attention to the fact that someone had been down there by taking it. She went on to say that there was always a slight chance that whoever they were dealing with would think Mr. Ollivander had escaped but if the bones had disappeared as well this considerably lessened the chance of this being believed.  
Despite the growing fear that the longer they stayed, the more chance of being caught, they all searched the underground room for anything that might help them carry Mr. Ollivander. There was nothing very suitable at all. Ron suggested using one of the chairs but Ginny thought it would be difficult to get it through the narrow passage and up the stairs as only two could carry it at a time. It was Sally who came up with an answer, imperfect as it was. She suggested using the blanket he was lying on. They would not need to move him on to something else and all six of them could help where space permitted.  
     They carried him carefully across the room towards the door which Sally held open while the others inched through, trying to avoid knocking against the frame. The passage was difficult as it was too narrow to allow all of them to get a purchase on the blanket. Ron took one end and Tom the other. It was a struggle and they were panting hard when they finally arrived at the end of the passage.  
     “Hang on a moment, Hermy. Give us a moment to catch our breath!” Ron was responding to Hermione’s request to hurry before they were caught. They pushed on up the steps, Harry leading the way, his wand at the ready. He was followed by Tom walking backwards holding tightly onto the end of the blanket while Ron held the other end. Ginny gave what help she could by holding on to his waist to steady him. Sam and Sally followed with Hermione bringing up the rear. After several stops to allow Ron and Tom to rest, Harry who had gone on ahead, reached the top of the stairs and was dismayed to find that the archway that had allowed then to enter had vanished, to be replaced by a solid wall. He relayed this information back to the others and asked what should do.  
     “We got in by the same method we used to get into Diagon Alley,” Hermione called back. “Can you see any bricks?”  
     “Yeah and they look just like the ones we saw coming in.”  
     “OK, tap them with your wand like I did.”  
     “What was the order?”  
     “Seven across and three down.”  
     Harry did as Hermione asked and stood back.  
     “Nothing’s happening,” he called. “It’s not working! We can’t get out!”  
     “Wait, I’m thinking. Are you sure you’ve tapped the right bricks, Harry? Do it again”  
     “Seven across... and now…three down…done…still nothing!”  
     “Can you hurry up and do something, Mate. This blanket is not getting any lighter!” This came from an exhausted-sounding Ron.  
     “Erm…” suddenly Sally’s voice came out of the darkness. “As we’re the other side maybe you need to reverse the pattern. Try seven across starting from the right-hand side, Harry, and then three down.”  
     Harry did as she suggested and all heaved a collective sigh of relief as the now familiar sound of sliding bricks produced the archway which led out onto the mosaic floor of the Romano-British temple. Ron and Tom carefully carried Mr. Ollivander up the few remaining steps and out onto the floor of the excavation where they gently lowered the blanket and then collapsed onto the ground beside it, breathing heavily and rubbing their arms and shoulders.  
     “How do you do it, Sally? You’re a genius!” Tom turned to Sam. “I don’t think she’s a Muggle at all, she’s one of them!” He waved an arm at Hermione, Ron and Ginny.  
     “Don’t be silly, Tom. There was nothing magical about it at all. Do you know what came into my mind? It was a picture from the first chapter of Alice Through the Looking Glass; the bit where she climbs up on the mantle shelf and goes through the mirror. There’s a clock there and on the other side of the mirror everything’s reversed.  
     Ginny was kneeling beside Mr. Ollivander and she now looked up with a worried expression.  
     “He really doesn’t look too good,” she said. “Let’s get him down to Peggy’s as soon as we can.”  
     The going was easier now that the six of them could hold onto the blanket. Harry and Ron took hold of the two front corners and Tom and Sam the rear two. Hermione and Ginny took hold of the edges and in this way they struggled through the undergrowth until they came to the outer rampart. After a brief pause for a rest, they set off down the track that led to the beach woods. Here the going was difficult with a narrow track and branches to contend with. Where it was particularly overgrown, Hermione and Ginny went on ahead, moving branches aside and pointing out where the ground was uneven. Eventually they came out onto the lane that led towards Steyning. Despite the going being much easier, there was something else to worry about.  
     “What if someone sees us,” asked Sam anxiously as they came out of Mouse Lane and onto the High Street. “How are we going to explain what we are doing?”  
In the event, their fears were groundless. They heard and met nobody. In the early hours of Sunday morning in Steyning, nothing and nobody was stirring and ten minutes later the weary band turned the corner into Church Street and approached Saxon Cottage.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 30  
Sunday 24th May

In which much more is explained

    Miss Gamling was on duty at breakfast on Sunday morning and after reminding everyone about half term beginning on Friday and the need to let the boarding office know about travel arrangements, she asked to see Sam, Sally and Tom. The three of them looked at each other anxiously before approaching the staff table.  
     “Don’t look so worried!” As she spoke, Miss Gamling was taking a sheet of paper from the logbook. “As far as I know you haven’t done anything wrong: on the contrary, it says here you’ve all been helping Mrs. Deys with some sort of event up at Chanctonbury.”  
     “Er, that’s right, Miss, we did.” Sam felt her face go red as she spoke but Miss Gamling was looking at the sheet of paper in her hand and did not notice.  
     “She sent this note to Mr. Rodale,” she continued, “saying how helpful you all had been and apologised for keeping you so long and depriving you of a good night’s sleep.”  
     “We’re OK, Miss, and pleased to be able to help Mrs. Deys” This came from Sally and her two friends nodded their agreement.  
     “That’s good to hear. I just wanted you to know about the note, that’s all. Now off you go. Lunch is at one o’clock in case you fall asleep in the meantime! You look worn out. Did Mrs. Deys really keep you that busy?”  
     “You could say that, Miss,” replied Tom.  
     The three of them left the dining room and made for one of the garden seats on Wykeham Lawn where they would not be overheard.  
     “I thought she was going to ask us exactly what we had been doing!” said Sam. “I wouldn’t have known what to say!”  
     “I was more worried he was going to ask how we got into our rooms,” added Tom. “I know Peggy mentioned to Mr. Rodale about putting us up but it would have been rather crowded what with Mr. Ollivander staying there. I had to knock on Simon’s window and climb in when he opened it. He wasn’t best pleased!”  
     “We had to wake up Stella in our room,” added Sam. “She wasn’t a happy bunny either!”  
     After spending a few minutes discussing all that had happened, they agreed to go and get some sleep and then after lunch make their way to Saxon Cottage and find out what was going on.

***

  
      Lunch on a Sunday in the boarding house was a formal affair and the boarders were expected to dress smartly. The boys usually wore a jacket and tie, the girls a dress. On this occasion, Mr. Erison, the Head, was present as was the Reverend Portman, vicar of St. Andrew’s Church just across the road. The roast chicken was very welcome as was the treacle sponge which followed - Tom’s favourite as he never tired of telling anyone who would listen. After the meal ‘names’ were taken, notices read out and everyone told to ‘pass on’. Sam, Sally and Tom went up to the staff table to sign out.  
     “Let me guess,” Miss Gamling was chuckling to herself as she wrote their names in the log book. “You’re off to Saxon Cottage. Am I right or am I right?”  
     “Right both times, Miss.” Sam glanced at the others as she spoke. “Debriefing.”  
     “What else! I hope you’re all going to get down to some work this evening.”  
     “Of course we will, Miss,” replied Tom. “You know us!”  
     “Yes, I do Tom! Go on, off you go.”  
     They walked up School Lane and crossed the road to Saxon Cottage where Tom opened the gate and followed the girls up the short path to the door. Sally knocked and to their surprise Harry opened it and with a broad grin stood back to let them in.  
     “Good timing, we’ve just got here ourselves. We’re all in the front room.” Harry led the way into the now-familiar sitting room where they saw Ginny and Ron sitting on the floor and Peggy and Hermione occupying the two chairs on either side of the old fireplace. Mr. Ollivander was stretched out on the sofa looking considerably better than when they last saw him.  
     “I thought you’d be over and now that we’re all here, I’ll go and make some tea.”  
     Peggy got up out if her chair and made for the door.  
     “I’ll come and help you,” said Sally.  
     “Thank you, dear. There are quite a number of us!” From the way she spoke, far from being overwhelmed Peggy seemed excited at the prospect of catering for the needs of so many people, one of whom, despite looking better was nevertheless obviously still very frail and tired.  
     Very soon they all had a cup of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Mr. Ollivander declined the biscuit but sat up to take a sip of his tea, after which he placed the cup and saucer on the small table Peggy had provided for him, lay back with a sigh and looked at the expectant and questioning faces that surrounded him.  
     “First of all,” he began, “I would like to thank all of you for coming to rescue me - a second time in the case of Miss Granger and Messrs Potter and Weasley; and I am told that it was Miss Weasley who came down here to…what is this place called, Peggy?”  
     “Steyning, Garrick, but you were found up at Chanctonbury Ring.” Peggy turned to the others. “He has no memory of what happened to him at all, not a thing, which is very strange.”  
     “And,” continued Mr. Ollivander, “I must not forget to thank Miss Bolton, Miss Allbright and Mr. Bradley for their help. I am told they had rescued Miss Weasley before they all rescued me!”  
     “That’s right, they did,” said Peggy. “You don’t want to believe all the bad things they say about young people these days.”  
     “Indeed you do not!” Mr. Ollivander sat up again and took another sip of his tea before laying back and smiling at them all.  
     “I can see from your faces that you are all dying to ask a considerable number of questions, especially, I suspect, Miss Granger; but as Mrs. Deys has just mentioned, I am afraid I cannot recall anything of what has happened to me since leaving Ottery St Catchpole.”  
     “So, you do remember staying with my great aunt Muriel then, after you left my brother Bill and his wife Fleur at Shell Cottage?”  
     “I do, Miss Weasley, yes. Up to that point my memory is clear, but afterwards…I’m sorry if my stay there caused any worries on the part of yourself and your great aunt.”  
     “You did seem to have something on your mind, something troubling you.”  
     “Yes indeed, and I am persuaded it had something to do with…well let me start by saying I have a confession to make to you.”  
     “A confession? To us?” This came from Hermione.  
     “Yes, and it concerns a theft.”  
     “A theft?” As Hermione repeated what she had just said, Tom thought of parrots but Sam seemed to read his mind and her warning look told him to keep his mouth closed.  
     “When I was recuperating in Shell Cottage,” continued Mr. Ollivander, “I took something that was not mine and I am thinking this has led to much of the trouble that has happened since.”  
     “Did you take something belonging to Bill and Fleur?” This came from Ron.  
     “No, it was more something that, in a sense, belonged more to you, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter.”  
     “But we had nothing down there.” Harry turned to Hermione and Ron. “Either of you two missing anything?” Both shook their heads.  
     “It’s something,” went on Mr. Ollivander, “you were considering throwing into the sea and I felt I could not allow this to happen.”  
     “Slytherin’s locket! It’s Slytherin’s locket you took, wasn’t it?” Hermione’s expression changed from a look of puzzlement to one of excitement and then back to puzzlement. “But it was virtually destroyed, Mr. Ollivander. It contained one of Riddle’s Horcruxes!”  
     “That is true, Miss Granger, but it was not totally destroyed and I managed to repair it. I felt it was too valuable a thing to be lost forever. In the light of what appears to have happened to me since, I have come to regret I had anything to do with it!”  
     “You really think the locket’s responsible?”  
     “I am not sure, not sure at all, but I do remember that after I repaired it, it came to have - how can I put it - some sort of hold over me.”  
     “But the thing in it was destroyed! I will never forget how terrible it was!” Ron looked at Hermione and Harry. “Do you remember what it was trying to do to us? It nearly ruined our friendship!” His face had gone pale and his voice shook with emotion as he recalled events that meant nothing to Sam, Tom and Sally - and probably to Peggy as well - but which obviously had had a profound effect on Hermione, Ron and Harry.”  
     “None of us will forget that, Ron.” Harry gripped his shoulder and then turned to Mr. Ollivander.  
     “Are you sure we’re talking about the locket and not something else?”  
     “Of course I’m sure, Mr. Potter.” Mr. Ollivander seemed mildly put out that his word should be questioned. “You had left it on a window sill in Shell Cottage.”  
     “Yeah, that’s right. I remember putting it there.”  
     “I wish we had thrown it into the sea,” muttered Ron.  
     “What I find strange is how it has come to be active in some way.” Hermione turned to Mr. Ollivander. “You say you managed to repair it?”  
     “Yes, I did. The hinge was broken and the two halves were dented but intact. The glass inlays were broken and some sort of thick black liquid had spilled out. It took several days of careful cleaning to remove it. It was only after I had gone to Miss Weasley’s great aunt Muriel’s cottage that I was aware that it was having some sort of influence over me.”  
     “It did on us too!” said Ron. He looked at Harry. “Do you remember when we wore it we got bad-tempered and irritable with each other? And when you told me to stab it, I couldn’t because it was getting at me, saying terrible things and…”  
     “But you did it, Ron!” Harry put a hand on his arm. “You stabbed it and destroyed the Horcrux,” He looked at Mr. Ollivander, a questioning look on his face.  
     “Are you saying we didn’t destroy it after all?”  
     “All I am saying, Mr. Potter, is that the locket itself was not totally destroyed and I managed to repair it.”  
     “Can you tell us a bit more about the effect it had on you?” asked Hermione.  
     “Well, it is difficult to explain what it felt like but it began with not being able to get it out of my mind. I might be lying in bed and then suddenly I would be thinking about it. Sometimes the feeling for it would be so strong that I would have to get out of bed and check that it was not missing and still in the old wooden wand box I kept it in."  
     “The One Ring!” Tom looked eagerly at Sam and Sally. “That’s what it sounds like! This locket thing has the same sort of hold over people as the ring did in The Lord of the Rings!”  
     “That’s not relevant, Tom. That’s fiction. This seems to be real.”  
     “I know that, Sam, I just thought I’d mention it. Mr. Ollivander, do you think the locket sort of led you to Chanctonbury Ring?”  
     “I do not know, Mr. Bradley. From the moment, I left Ottery St. Catchpole, my mind is a complete blank until I vaguely recall my name being mentioned shortly before you all rescued me from…where was the place again, Peggy?”  
     “Chanctonbury Ring, Garrick. It’s an old hill fort up on the Downs a mile or so from Steyning.”  
     “Ah, yes, Chanctonbury Ring. It is all very strange.”  
     “What might have happened,” suggested Hermione “is that someone or something has made you forget everything, wiped your mind. The big question is who or what did this. The other big question is why, after we destroyed the Horcrux, does the locket still seem to be exerting some sort of influence. Where is it, by the way.”  
     “I do not know, Miss Granger. I assume that it was lost or taken at some point after I left the cottage.”  
    Sam, Sally and Tom had been listening to the conversation and Peggy noticed the increasingly puzzled expressions on their faces. Although better informed about some of what was being talked about, she was also confused. She turned to Hermione.  
    “I think, my dear, we need to just pause there for a moment. Sam, Sally and Tom must be wondering what on earth you’re all on about and I can’t follow everything either. You’re good at explaining things. Give us a bit of background. Tell them about Horcruxes; and you’d better start with Harry and what happened to him when he was a baby.” She turned to Harry.  
    “If that’s alright with you, of course.”  
    “No problem.”  
    “But … Harry, are you sure about this?” Hermione sounded hesitant.  
     “Yeah. If you’re all worried about upsetting me, don’t be...” Harry put a hand to his forehead and felt just above his right eye. “…no, honestly, it’s OK. Go on.”  
     “If you’re sure.” Hermione turned to Sam, Sally and Tom. “To help you understand, I need, as Peggy mentioned, to go back to Harry’s birth but also tell you something about the Divination professor at Hogwarts, Miss Trelawney. Divination, or Fortune Telling as I think Muggles more usually call it, is one of the subjects taught at the school.”  
     “Hang on, Hermy,” put in Ron. “If you’re going to mention the prophecy, you’d better start with Tom Riddle. It all goes back to him, doesn’t it? They won’t understand much if you don’t start with him, will they?”  
     “OK. That makes sense.”  
     “Hey, Harry, she’s actually agreed with me! That must be a first!” Harry and Ron clapped each other on the back and grinned at Hermione who glared back at them before continuing.  
     “OK, this Tom Riddle Ron was the son of a Muggle who was also called Tom Riddle. He was bewitched by someone called Merope Gaunt, the daughter of Marvolo Gaunt who, incidentally, treated her very badly. These Gaunts were a wizarding family, related very distantly to the Salazar Slytherin we’ve mentioned. Merope fancied Tom Riddle senior and gave him a love potion to make him fall in love with her.  
     “Did it work?” This came from Tom with, Sam thought, rather too much interest.  
     “It did, apparently. They had a son who was born late in 1926 but before that, Merope had allowed the love potion to wear off, probably thinking that Tom now cared for her, especially as she was pregnant. But he didn’t; he abandoned her and she gave birth in an orphanage and then died. And before you say anything, Tom, yes, it was a bit like the Oliver Twist story.” Tom didn’t say anything but had the makings of on one of his smug expressions. Sam rolled her eyes and Sally smiled as Hermione continued by telling them that Merope named him Tom Marvolo Riddle after his father and grandfather.  
     “Albus Dumbledore,” she continued, “the future headmaster of Hogwarts, was teaching Transfiguration at the school at the time and he visited the orphanage in 1938 when Tom Riddle was eleven. This was to offer him a place at Hogwarts.  
     “How did he know he was there?” asked Tom  
     “Yeah, how did he know anything about him?” added Sam. “He was just an eleven-year-old boy born in an orphanage.”  
     “Was it something to do with him having one parent who was a witch?” asked Sally.  
     “Very much so. None of us have ever been up there or even know where it is but somewhere in Hogwarts there is a locked tower in which there is a very old book called the Book of Admittance. Next to it is a silver inkpot with a quill pen. This is the Quill of Acceptance and when magic is found in children at a very young age, it somehow manages to detect it and writes his or her name in the book. Every year someone - I suspect it’s Professor McGonagall - checks the book and sends an owl to those turning eleven in September with a letter offering them a place at Hogwarts. She would have noticed Tom Riddle’s name and told Professor Dumbledore about it.”  
     “Is this how you all came to be at Hogwarts?” asked Sally.  
     “Yeah, we all got a letter,” said Ron. He chuckled and looked at Harry. “Ask Mr. Potter here how many he got!”  
     “Too many to count,” Harry said with feeling. “The Dursleys didn’t want me to have anything to do with the school. Mr. Dursley refused to accept it existed even though he was married to my Mum’s sister! When I got my letter, he threw it away but they kept coming, thousands of them. In then end they took me and my cousin Dudley to an island where they thought they’d be safe from all this magical stuff but Hagrid turned up, frightened the life out of them and took me to Diagon Alley to buy all the things I would need for school and then accompanied me to King’s Cross station to get on the Hogwarts Express. That’s where I first met Ron.”  
     “That’s right,” added Ron, “and then this bossy girl put her head into the carriage and that’s when we first met Hermione!” He and harry grinned at her and received another glare in return before she continued with the story.  
     “Outwardly, Tom Riddle seemed a good student at Hogwarts, winning awards and things but while he was there, he got interested in what we call the Dark Arts. Put simply, this is magic that is evil, magic to do harm to other people, often by using one of the three unforgivable curses.”  
     “Cruciatus, Imperius and the Killing Curse,” Ron spoke quietly with a glance at Harry who looked down at the ground and didn’t say anything.  
     “That’s right. Dark Magic is much more than this but you get the idea. One of the main subjects studied at Hogwarts is Defence against the Dark Arts. We all took it.”  
     “Snape,” muttered Ron darkly but he didn’t elaborate. Harry looked at him sharply.  
     “What did this Tom Riddle do when he left Hogwarts?” asked Sally.  
     “He wanted to be a teacher at the school but Armando Dippet, headmaster at the time, turned him down so he went and worked for Borgin and Burkes which is a shop down a dark lane off Diagon Alley.”  
     “Knockturn Alley,” added Harry with a shudder. “I landed up there by mistake once! Sorry, go on Hermione”  
     “Borgin and Burkes sell many articles that could be used in conjunction with the Dark Arts. Tom Riddle’s task was to try and find items of value to sell and buy them at the lowest price.”  
     “Was he good at his job?”  
     “No one really knows, Sam, because he suddenly left the shop and vanished.”  
     “Tell them about the locket,” put in Harry.  
     “I was coming to that. Before he left, Riddle stole the locket we’ve been talking about, Slytherin’s locket, from a lady called Hepzibah Smith and then killed her. That would probably have been in 1946 or 1947. The locket originally belonged to Merope Gaunt who pawned it to raise money because she had been abandoned and was pregnant.”  
     “Why did he have to kill Hepzibah Smith,” Sam sounded genuinely upset. “If she was an old lady he could have just taken the locket, couldn’t he? He didn’t have to kill her!”  
     “You mustn’t think of Voldemort - that’s what he was calling himself by then: it’s an anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle, by the way - as being like you and me. He wanted to be the greatest wizard of all time and also to be immortal and one of the ways to do this was to create Horcruxes.”  
     “Horcruxes?” repeated Sam “You mentioned them a moment ago. I’ve never heard of a horcrux.”  
     “OK…” Hermione paused and took a big breath before continuing. “A Horcrux is an object in which you have hidden part of your soul. We don’t know for certain when Riddle managed to create his first one but it may well have been while he was still at Hogwarts. He got information about horcruxes by looking in forbidden books and asking a teacher called Horace Slughorn about them. To make one, you have to commit murder which is an act of pure evil and which somehow allows you to split your soul. That’s why he would have killed Hepzibah Smith.”  
     “Split your soul by…murder?” Sam had gone pale and gripped Tom’s arm.  
     “Ow, that hurts!”  
     “Sorry, Tom. Go on Hermione.”  
     “As I said, what Riddle wanted, and no doubt the ancient Greek wizard called Herpo the Foul who is supposed to have created the very first Horcrux would also have wanted, was to become immortal. That could be achieved by splitting your soul up and hiding the pieces is different objects. That way, even if your body died, you could regenerate. Riddle knew he could only be truly killed if the objects were found and destroyed, along with that bit of his soul. One of the objects was Slytherin’s locket. Between the three of us, Harry Ron and I managed to destroy all of them and this allowed Harry to kill him in the end with a powerful wand called the Elder Wand.”  
     “I know it sounds like a silly question, but how many pieces of his soul did he hide?  
     “Not silly at all, Sally. He split his soul into seven parts.”  
     “You’ve told us about the locket but what other sorts of objects did he use?”  
     “A diary, a ring, a cup, a diadem and a snake called Nagini.”  
     “Isn’t that all a bit risky,” asked Tom. “What if the objects he put them in got lost or damaged? And a snake! What if the snake died?”  
     “It did,” put in Harry. “Or rather it was killed by a good friend of ours called Neville. But I agree, it was all a bit risky.”  
     “And even more so,” added Hermione, “when you consider he chose quite well-known objects. Had he chosen obscure ones, we would never have found them.”  
     “You found them all and destroyed them?” Tom sounded impressed. “Where were they hidden?”  
     “The diary was with someone called Lucius Malfoy, the head of a pure blood family. The ring was hidden in the ruins of the Gaunt family home in Little Hangleton. It was found and destroyed by Dumbledore. The locket was hidden in a cave by the sea Riddle visited as a boy. I won’t go into all the details now but it had already been taken from there and a fake one put in its place. The real one was found at Grimmauld Place where we went to find Harry – remember, Tom?” Tom nodded. “What about the cup?” he asked.  
     “This was a small golden cup with the engraving of a badger on it. It originally belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, one of the founders of Hogwarts so it was very old. Hepzibah Smith, the owner of Slytherin’s locket, also inherited the cup and it was stolen from her by Riddle after her murder. It was hidden in a vault at Gringotts Bank belonging to one of Riddles fanatical supporters called Bellatrix Lestrange. We managed to trick our way into Gringott’s and destroy it. That was one of the hardest ones. None of them were easy but that one…” Hermione paused and looked over at Harry and Ron who nodded without saying anything.  
     “How do you actually destroy Horcruxes?” asked Sally.  
     “They can be destroyed by very few things; being stabbed by the fang of a monster called a basilisk is one way. That’s how Harry destroyed the diary and incidentally rescued Ginny who had been possessed by Riddle through the dairy which had been planted on her by the Lucius Malfoy. Albus Dumbledore destroyed the ring using the sword of Gryffindor, another of the founders of Hogwarts. It was protected by an extremely powerful curse that would have killed him had he not planned to die anyway which is another story. Ron used the same sword to destroy the locket Horcrux and a friend of ours called Neville used it to kill the snake. The diadem was destroyed by a special sort of fire called fiendfyre.”  
     "You said just now,” said Sally “That the Horcrux in the ring Albus Dumbledore destroyed was protected by a curse that was sort of independent of the Horcrux. Do you think the locket could be the same? Even though the Horcrux was destroyed, it still seems to be dangerous.” She looked at Mr. Ollivander who nodded gravely.  
     “That’s a good point, Sally.” Hermione, not for the first time, looked impressed.  
     “And another thing,” went on Sally. “You said Tom Riddle split his soul into seven pieces.”  
     “Yeah, that’s right.”  
     “Well you’ve only mentioned six: The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem and the snake. I make that six.”  
     “You’re right again and yes, there was one more.”  
     Everyone and looked expectantly at Hermione who seemed suddenly a little uneasy. She glanced at Harry who nodded.  
     “It was me,” he said quietly. “I was the seventh Horcrux.”


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 31  
Sunday 24th May

In which Harry explains the circumstances surrounding his birth

     Following Harry’s pronouncement, there was a stunned silence then Peggy got to her feet.  
     “I think this is a good time to have more tea and biscuits. Sally, would you mind …?”  
     “I’ll give you a hand, Peggy. Sally helped last time.”  
     Sam stood up and followed Peggy into the kitchen. While they were away, nobody said very much and Mr. Ollivander lay back on the cushions with a deep sigh. Hermione asked him if he was alright and he nodded before looking over to Sally and Tom.  
     “I did not want to say anything in front of your friend, Miss Bolton,” he said, “but I understand from Peggy that she was up at this Chanctonbury Ring about a month ago and was hurt.”  
     “That’s …right.” Sally was hesitant in her reply, guessing where this was going.  
     “That would be around the time I left Miss Weasley’s great aunt Muriel.”  
     “Mr. Ollivander,” put in Tom, his thoughts running along the same lines as Sally, “no one thinks for one moment you had anything to do with what happened to Sam.”  
     “Thank you but Peggy told me that Miss Bolton did mention something about an old man and, as you can see, I am not exactly in the first flush of youth!” Mr. Ollivander smiled gently before continuing with a more serious tone. “If by some small chance it was I who caused her any harm, then I am deeply sorry. I would never harm anyone…ever.”  
     “Of course you wouldn’t, Mr. Ollivander.” Sally went over to the settee and knelt down, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s obviously just a coincidence.”  
     Any further discussion on the subject was cut short by Peggy and Sam returning with tea and biscuits. Mr. Ollivander again refused anything to eat but welcomed another cup of tea. Harry had gone over to the fireplace and placed his cup and saucer on the mantle shelf before turning to face a small sea of expectant faces. He looked at Hermione.  
     "Before I say anything else, could you tell them about the prophecy because that’s where it all started, as far as I’m concerned.”  
     “OK. I’ve already mentioned Professor Trelawney who taught - teaches - Divination at Hogwarts. Before she was appointed, she had a job interview with Professor Dumbledore. This would have been some time in 1980 and they met in a room above the bar at the Hog’s Head which is a pub in Hogsmeade.”  
     “Hey! Great place for an interview! I can just see Mr. Erison interviewing prospective staff in the Norfolk Arms or the White Horse!”  
     “Tom, please!”  
     “Sorry, Sam. Go on Hermione. Where’s Hogsmeade, by the way?”  
     “A village quite close to Hogwarts. The landlord of the pub is Aberforth Dumbledore, Professor Dumbledore’s brother. Anyway, to get back to back to Trelawney, she didn’t exactly impress him at the interview and probably wouldn’t have got the job except for the fact that she suddenly went into a trance and made a prophecy. How did it go Harry?”  
     “ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…_ I may have missed some of it out but that’s basically it.”  
     “I’m impressed, mate. I couldn’t remember all that!”  
     “Yes you would, Ron, if it was your life they were talking about!”  
     “Yeah, you’re right, maybe I would, then.”  
     “It sounds a bit vague,” said Tom. “But they can be, can’t they…Athens will be saved by its wooden walls.”  
     “What’s that got to do with anything? Is this something else from Lord of the Rings?”  
     “No Sam, it was a prophecy made by the Oracle during the wars The Greeks fought against the Persians in 480 BC. The Athenians did not understand what it meant and only when the Persian fleet was beaten at the sea battle of Salamis did they realise that the wooden walls referred to their warships, not the walls round Athens which were not made of wood anyway, as far as I know.”  
     “I haven’t heard of that,” said Hermione, “but you’ve got a point, Tom. Trelawney’s prophecy could have referred to anybody born at the end of July, 1980. It could for instance very well have referred to our friend Neville Longbottom who was born on the 30th and whose parents, like Harry’s, had defied Voldemort three times. Neville’s parents were pure bloods rather than Harry’s who were half blood - his mother Lily Potter was Muggle-born - so Riddle may have thought it must be Harry he would have to kill because he hated Muggles, like Slytherin whose heir he believed he was.”  
     “How did Voldemort get to hear of the prophecy?” asked Sally. “If Professor Dumbledore was in a pub talking to this Trelawney, it must have been just between the two of them.”  
     “They met in a room above the bar so, yes, it would have been in private but the conversation was overheard by someone called Severus Snape who at the time was working for Voldemort. He must have been just outside the door. The thing is, he didn’t hear the complete prophecy as he was discovered eavesdropping by Aberforth and chucked out of the pub. He did pass on what he had heard to Voldemort who apparently didn’t realise how ambiguous prophecies could be and assumed, rightly or wrongly, that it referred to Harry.” Hermione paused and looked over at Harry who nodded and took up the story.  
     “Yeah, that’s right. There was a war going on against Voldemort at the time - we call it the First Wizarding War - and my parents were living in what you would call a safe house, down in Godric’s Hollow. It was protected by a Fidelius Charm which means the information about where they were was hidden inside a single chosen person or Secret Keeper. Unless he or she told someone, they could be looking through the house window and still not see them. Unfortunately, a person called Wormtail was chosen as the Secret Keeper by my parents and he betrayed them.”  
     “Wormtail? That’s a strange name!” This came from Sam.  
     “Peter Pettigrew was his real name,” Hermione explained. “He was an animagus which means he could turn himself into an animal.”  
     “A rat at one point.” Ron sounded bitter. “He was actually my pet rat, Scabbers! Ugh! Sorry Harry, go on, mate.”  
     “Riddle came for them - for me - on October 31st 1981. He killed both my parents and tried to kill me but failed when the spell backfired and nearly killed him instead. It’s then that I probably - and accidentally - became one of his horcruxes.”  
     “Harry’s the only known person to have survived the Killing Curse. He’s been called The Boy who lived.” Ron was looking at Harry with something like awe. “Harry, show ‘em your scar.”  
     “OK but it seems to be fading and getting harder to see.” Harry took off his glasses and lifted his hair off his forehead. Over his right eye, Sam, Sally and Tom could just make out a scar in the shape of a small bolt of lightning. When the three of them had had a good look, Harry replaced his glasses and smoothed down his hair before continuing.  
     “What happened next is a bit confusing. Remember, I was only a year old, just a baby. Riddle disappeared and it took several years before he was able to return in…well…some sort of human form.”  
     “What happened to you,” asked Sally. “Were you just left alone in the house?”  
     “No. As Dumbledore had put the Fidelius Charm on the house, he knew immediately what had happened and sent Hagrid to fetch me and take me to my aunt and uncle. They took me in but …” Harry tailed off and looked at Hermione and Ron.  
     “They treated him very badly.” There was anger in Hermione’s voice. “They treated him like a servant!”  
     “But by staying with them,” Ron explained, “Harry was safe because of a powerful protective charm which would only end when he reached sixteen.”  
     A timely flash of lightning, followed by a loud clap of thunder interrupted their conversation and made them all jump. Peggy went to the window and looked out. “It’s pouring with rain,” she said, “and really dark out there. She crossed the room to the door and switched on the lights. A few moments later there was another bright flash of lightening followed by thunder and the lights went out. Tom got up and moved towards the door.  
     “Where’s the fuse box, Peggy?”  
     “In the pantry at the far end of the kitchen. If you can’t get the lights going, don’t worry, just bring a couple of candles. They are on the top shelf.”  
     After a couple of minutes Tom returned saying there was nothing he could do and that the power cut probably affected half of Steyning. He had a couple of candles in his hand which he gave to Peggy. She put them in the two candleholders on the mantelshelf and lit them. The room was suffused with a warm yellow glow. The rain continued to beat against the window panes and every few minutes a brilliant flash of lightening lit up the room, to be followed by a loud clap of thunder.  
     “The storm’s getting closer.” Sam had got up and was peering out the window.”  
     As if to prove her right, the next flash of lightening was followed almost immediately by a great crash of thunder, making her back hurriedly away from the window and look anxiously at Tom and Sally. “We need to get back to the boarding house.”  
“Wow, I’d quite forgotten about the time.” Tom stood up and joined Sam at the window. He looked at the others “I’ve got lots of work to do this evening.”  
     They waited until the worst of the storm seemed to be over – the lights had come on again - and then made a dash for the dining room after thanking Peggy for the tea and biscuits, wishing Mr. Ollivander a speedy recovery and promising to keep in touch with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. They made supper with seconds to spare, causing Miss Gamling to look pointedly at the clock on the wall over the serving hatch.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 32  
Monday 25th May

In which Steyning is flooded and Mr. Rodale informs boarders the school is closed

     On the Monday morning Sam, Sally and Tom were surprised to see Mr. Rodale come into breakfast dressed not in his usual jacket and tie but an old anorak and a pair of jeans. On his feet was a pair of wellington boots and on his face a serious expression. Mr. Weltred and other members of the boarding staff were similarly attired and wore similar expressions. The dining room went suddenly very quiet.  
     “Good morning, everyone,” began Mr. Rodale. “Well, in fact it’s not a very good morning because I have something important to tell you. During the night, a considerable part of Steyning was flooded!” The silence was broken by everyone talking at once.        

    Mr. Rodale rang the bell.  
     “Quiet please…thank you. As I was saying, a considerable part of Steyning has been flooded and Shooting Field has been particularly badly affected because it’s low-lying. What concerns us here is the state of the senior school. It’s pretty well under water. Most if not all of the houses down there are flooded and the bypass has been closed. Traffic is being diverted up the high Street from the Washington end and up Clay’s Hill from the Bramber roundabout. How this happened is a complete mystery. It did rain very heavily in the night as I’m sure you all noticed but not enough to have caused the flooding on such a scale. The authorities are baffled and are trying to work out how this could have happened. In the meantime, Mr. Erison has had to close the school. This includes Church Street because although it’s not flooded there would be staffing difficulties and problems regarding sports for Year 7 and 8 which take place at Shooting Field. Also, there has been some storm damage to the roof of Long Dorm and Big School which, as you know, are the parts of the original school and date back to 1614, if not earlier. We don’t know if it’s safe to use those rooms.”  
     There was more excited chatter and Mr. Rodale once again resorted to ringing the bell.  
     “Quiet please…thank you. I appreciate this has come at a time when a number of you are taking exams and there may be difficulties here. As you know, it’s half term next week but Mr. Erison is going to tell everyone it begins today.”  
     There was more excited chatter and Mr. Rodale, for a third time, rang the bell.  
     “As far as we are concerned, the boarding house will stay open until you would all normally leave for half term which is this coming Friday. This is mainly because it would be difficult for some of you to change travel arrangements at such short notice, especially if you have flights booked. Another bit of good news is that although the junior school at Church Street is closed to day students, the building will remain open for the time being so you may continue to use the facilities, again until Friday. Long Dorm and Big School are, of course strictly out of bounds.  
     I can’t tell you what will happen in the longer term. We don’t know how long Shooting Field will be flooded and what state the school buildings will be in when the water subsides. At the moment, it doesn’t look good and Mr. Erison says he will be talking to local schools to see if they can help out, especially when it comes to sitting exams. He will also need to contact County Hall and probably the Ministry of Education and see what they have to say.  
     That is all I can tell you for the moment. If any of you have any questions, please come and find me in my study after breakfast. When you have talked with your parents or guardians, please let Mrs. Dunsford in the boarding office know about your travel arrangements, particularly if they are changing as a result of this catastrophe. One more thing, Shooting Field is strictly out of bounds to everybody. It’s too dangerous. The water in some places is quite deep. I know this because Mr. Weltred and I have been down there to have a look in one of my old Landrovers and we nearly got stuck!”

***

     “What are you going to do, Tom?” The three of them were sitting in the junior library at Church Street and it was Sally who asked the question.  
     “Might hang around until Friday and then go home. Thought I would leave it until the last minute: my big sister will only start complaining about me being messy! What about you two?”  
     “Same as you,” said Sam. “My parents will both be working so I’d be on my own until Friday evening…Sally?”  
     “Don’t know, really. If I go home I can help my Mum with things and she would like that I’m sure but…”  
     “…you’re still bothered about this adoption business, aren’t you?”  
     “Yeah, I suppose I am, Tom. I can’t get it out of my head. I ought to talk to them about it but…”  
     “…you would find it very difficult so… how about…”  
     “Oh no! Not again!” Sam rolled her eyes. “Godric’s Hollow, Hangleton - sorry Little Hangleton. Now where? China?”

     “No Sam, not as far away as that. Just up the road to somewhere we’ve already been.”  
     “Chanctonbury Ring?” I don’t mind if I never see that place again!”  
     “When I said just up the road it was just a figure of speech. What I suggest is that the three of us go up to Letchworth and give Sally some support.” He looked at Sam. “We can leave Sally with her parents if everyone’s happy with that and you and I can go on to Cambridge and stay in my parents’ house. You can meet Jess, my sister and that will take the heat off me. What do you think?”  
     Tom had been expecting all sorts of objections to his idea, he was pleasantly surprised when both Sally and Sam thought it a good idea, given the circumstances they found themselves in. Sally said she would find it much easier to confront her parents with Sam and Tom there for support and Sam was happy to have company. She also admitted she was anxious to get away from Steyning for a bit.  
     “It’s just that so many strange things have happened to us down here,” she explained, “and the storm last night was really frightening. Then there was the flooding on top of everything else and the school closing. It’s almost as if someone has got it in for the place!”  
     “Why do you say that?” asked Sally  
     “Because from what Mr. Rodale was saying, it’s seems only Steyning was affected, not the neighbouring villages of Washington, Bramber or Upper Beeding.” She turned to Tom. “It reminds me of the story you were telling us about St. Cuthman, the one where the Devil did not like his holy works and decided to flood the whole area and prevent the spread of Christianity.”  
     “Yeah, it is a bit like that, you’re right!” Tom sounded quite excited. “The Devil spotted what he was up to and decided to dam the area in one night and drown the valley. In the legend, he threw up great mounds of earth which formed Cissbury, Chanctonbury, Mount Caburn and Rackham Hill. But he wasn’t reckoning on good old Cuthman waking up with all the noise he was making and tricking him into abandoning his task by holding a lighted candle behind a sieve, tricking him into thinking it was the rising sun!”  
     “If the Devil is behind the flooding then he’s succeeded this time, hasn’t he!”  
     “It’s only a legend, Sally.”  
     “I know, but what about all that’s been happening to us up at Chanctonbury Hill.”  
     “That’s something different - amazing but not the same.”  
     “What if it’s all somehow connected? After all, when Hermione asked us to look into the history of the place she mentioned the last two thousand years or so.”  
     “Come on Sally! Don’t get carried away.”  
     “When you two have stopped arguing, I suggest we go and pack. We need to catch a train to Letchworth.” With that Sam grabbed Sally’s arm and together they set off for Wykeham House, leaving Tom to make his way to Bennett’s. It was a beginning to rain and somewhere over towards Chanctonbury Ring there was a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder.

End of Part 1


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